Between the Lines
by sierendipity
Summary: Deathly Hallows from Ron and Hermione's point of view - focused mostly on each other ... because Harry's a sweetheart, but terribly clueless
1. Time to go

**July 24, 1997. Please review!**

"Mum, it's Mad Eye and Dung," Ron called up the staircase. The two figures had appeared just outside the Burrow garden. Finishing his breakfast, he magicked it into the nearby sink, still feeling unbelievably powerful in doing so. Despite how horrible it may have sounded, there was something about knowing that he could do something that Harry was still unable to.

He stood up to help the new arrivals with their things. As he reached them, there was a loud pop to his left. Tonks and Lupin stood there, hands linked.

"Who's here?" Mad Eye asked gruffly.

"Erm, Bill'n Fleur already, so's Hagrid. Now I think it's just Kingsley and Hermione that haven't shown," Ron said, and then glanced over Mad Eye's shoulder expectantly, as though expecting the latter to show up.

"Wotcher Ron." He smiled halfheartedly at Tonks's greeting, then balked as he noticed something glittering on her left hand. "Did you off and get married?" He was answered with Tonks' returned beam. There was even a ghost of a smile on Lupin's otherwise taut face.

"Brilliant," he told them emphatically, then led them inside. However, just as he reached the doorway, he heard another pop. Grinning, he spun around in time to see a bushy haired brunette appear.

"Merlin, you're finally here!" he exclaimed, smiling easily. However, before he could give her a hard time about her lack of punctuality, he stepped close enough to see her expression.

She smiled at him, but her jaw was clenched in a way that was, unfortunately, familiar, and her eyes were bloodshot.

"What happened?" he demanded, rushing to her side. He had forgotten about the duffel bag he'd been carrying inside.

"It doesn't matter now," she replied, and for the first words he'd heard from her in months, they weren't nearly the tone he would have liked.

"'Course it does," he insisted, and reached gently for her arm to pull her behind the others, until everyone but they had gone in. "What happened?"

"My parents … are gone."

His eyes widened in alarm, but she cut him off with a wave of her hand.

"Oh Ron, nothing like that; they're still _alive_. I told you it's silly. I sent them to Australia … to live a happy, carefree, childless life – their memory – I knew that Voldemort would be looking for them so I..." she hicupped, then cleared her throat. "Their memories are gone."

"Hermione, Merlin Hermione, of course it matters," he shook his head at her and let go of her arm in favor of opening his just enough to pull her tightly against his chest.

Six months ago, this would have terrified him, but somehow, after Dumbledore's funeral, it seemed like the most natural gesture in the world.

Hermione apparently agreed, as she slid her arms under his and dropped her forehead onto his shoulder, seeming to exhale right into him. In spite of himself, he smiled. Comforting Hermione wasn't exactly a chore.

After a moment he pulled away a little and hooked one arm around her shoulders. "Just remember, Hermione, everyone here's your family too," he murmured into her hair. Even to him it sounded corny, and he felt his ears reddening.

Hermione glanced at him with an appreciative and affectionate, albeit puzzled, glance. As they walked into his house, arms around each other, he thought wryly that chapter six in "Twelve Fail safe Ways to Charm Witches,"_ Making witches feel at home_, had paid off.

* * *

><p>"I'm coming," Ginny insisted again, her face set in a defensive scowl.<p>

Hermione glanced at Molly, who looked ready to hex her daughter into compliance.

"It's not your choice to make," she told her firmly.

"I'm not a child, Mum."

Ron couldn't deny that he was impressed. Not many people he knew would have the guts to continue confronting his mum under a look like that. However, he couldn't deny that he was not siding with his sister on this one. Not willing to take any more of the heated exchange, he stood.

"Look Gin, you're sixteen for one so yeah, for all intents and purposes, you're a child. And two? If you're there, the chances of Harry actually _agreeing_ with this plan are pretty slim, all right?"

She shot him a Molly-glare, and, after clearing his throat, he sat back down.

"Fine," Ginny snapped to the room as a whole, "Floo me when you've sorted out who's still alive when this is over, won't you? I'll be upstairs, sewing some new jumpers for my dolls, assuming the needles aren't too sharp."

She spun on her heel and stormed to the stairs. Ron cringed as he heard the pounding of each one.

"I know how she feels," Hermione murmured so that only Ron could hear. She stared after the stairs as though wishing she could follow Ginny. The rest of the order members continued their conversation from before.

"She's just being dramatic. She knows Mum is right."

Hermione looked hesitant, but finally sighed. "Yes, I know, but if you think about it, Harry's sixteen too. And _no_ one treats him like a child!"

"But she's … Ginny," Ron insisted, shaking his head, "It's different."

Hermione's eyebrows shot up, and Ron cringed, knowing immediately that this had been the wrong thing to say.

"_How_ is she any different Ron? We've done plenty more dangerous than this, starting long before we were sixteen!"

"You know Molly," Mad Eye interrupted gruffly, both of his eyes trained on Ron and Hermione, "Kingsley's yet to arrive. If he doesn't show, an extra volunteer _would_ be convenient..."

"No," Molly, Arthur, Bill, Ron and the twins snapped in unison.

"Just a thought," he growled back, and continued planning as though nothing had happened.

The conversation flowed from there, everyone suggesting transportation options, the safest houses, who was going to go where and with who, would Harry come, would anyone suspect this?

Meanwhile, Ron and Hermione sat silently in the back of the room. They would exchange the occasional glance at the more ridiculous ideas but, for the most part, kept to themselves.

Ron could only guess where her thoughts were – with Ginny, perhaps, or maybe her parents. Ron couldn't help but wish that before all of the chaos that was sure to ensue, and before Harry returned with them and they were all put in harm's way, he might have a few more days to spend with just Hermione.

He was startled out of his reverie by a sudden knock on the door.

Lupin and Mad Eye stood, wands raised, but weren't on guard for long. Kingsley, ("Or are you an impostor?" as Moody demanded, asking him a string of security questions) finally, had arrived.

As much as Ron would like it to be otherwise, it was time to go.


	2. Gleaming Appliances

**Next part of Deathly Hallows, more from Hermione's POV this time. Still July 27****th****. Ope, and I forgot to mention that the storyline and characters are not, will not, have never been mine. ****Shocker there, I'm sure :) Review please and thank you. Oh and shout out**** to GingerPygmy99 who caught that awful typo! There are probably more, so if you catch them and tell me, I thankee kindly. **

"Oh my," Hermione murmured, staring at the huge bike next to the Weasleys' broom cupboard.

"You could come on a broom with me," Ron shrugged from her other side. He hoped she didn't realise that it was more than a moment of gallantry.

"That's alright," she said - much too quickly, he noticed. "I don't think I'd do well on a broom."

He glanced to the ground.

"Right, 'course, sorry. Forgot." He didn't want her to see how his hopes had deflated. He was also wondering if she didn't have other reasons for refusing his offer. She smiled at him, then stepped off to ask Bill when the expected thestrals were going to arrive.

"Better luck next time," Fred smirked, clapping Ron on the shoulder.

"Bugger off," he growled, and stormed over to mount his broom. Alone.

* * *

><p>Hermione shivered as the disillusionment charm wore off with a pop. She watched Harry peer out the window as she pulled herself ungracefully out of Hagrid's sidecar. A few moments later, he was opening the door and rushing out to greet them. Hermione ran over to give him a tight hug.<p>

She released him in time to let Ron pat him on the back and nod in greeting.

They followed him into the kitchen where Hermione's eyes widened, taking in the glittering appliances, floors and walls. She went to sit next to Ron on the counter top.

"I don't see how Harry turned out to be such a slob," Ron smirked to her, gesturing around the spotless room. She sniggered in agreement.

"I can't believe people actually live here," she replied, but before Ron could reply, Moody was calling the meeting to order. They both fell silent as he started lecturing. Hermione felt herself zoning out. She already knew the plan. They'd gone over it in detail multiple times that day.

Ron caught her eye. He scrunched up his face into a scowl and mouthed, "Constant vigilance!"

Hermione covered her mouth to hold in her giggles, and Ron grinned appreciatively. Moody turned a little so that he was facing them. This seemed even more humorous somehow, especially when Ron grinned and winked at her.

She focused back in, however, when Harry suddenly snapped, "No! No way!"

Resigned to deal with his ever present hero complex, Hermione said, "I told them you'd take it like this."

Ron nodded from his perch next to her.

"If you think I'm going to let six people risk their lives-" Harry started again.

"-because it's the first time for all of us," Ron countered, voicing Hermione's own thoughts. As Harry kept protesting, she turned to Ron, exchanging a knowing glance.

She rolled her eyes and he snorted, nodding in agreement to the unspoken.

Harry, Fred and George were still bantering back and forth when Moody finally interjected. Hermione nodded at the finality in his tone. There was no way Harry was getting his way this time.

She was right. It wasn't long before Harry was dropping his hair into the small vial of polyjuice potion Moody had pulled from his pocket.

"Ooh you look much tastier than Crabbe and Goyle, Harry," she noted, then flushed as she caught sight of Ron's expression.

"Oh you know what I mean," she snapped defensively, "Goyle's potion looked like bogies!"

"Right then, fake Potters line up over here please," Moody finally cut in, rolling his brown eye. Ron came to stand next to Hermione, and as he did, he muttered, "'Course that's what you meant."

She whipped to face him, retort on her tongue, but realized that he was goading her by the smirk on his face.

"Just because you have a soft spot for Goyle, doesn't mean I'm not allowed to find him utterly repulsive," she countered haughtily, then snorted at the disgusted look on Ron's face.

She sobered, though, as she heard Mad Eye growl, "As I've already told you, you spineless worm, any Death Eaters we run in to will be aiming to capture Potter, not kill him. Dumbledore always said You-know-who would want to finish Potter in person. It'll be the protectors who have got the most to worry about, the Death Eaters'll want to kill them."

She was forced back to the reality of the situation as he so calmly mentioned the possibility of capture and death. She felt a squeeze at her elbow and looked to see Ron smiling at her. "We'll be fine."

She nodded and smiled, accepting her egg cup size full of the golden liquid from Moody.

"Right, just be safe, Ron," she glared as threateningly as possible, determined that he understand how angry she would be if he got himself hurt.

He smiled and nodded, and then they drank.

**If this chapter is monotonous, then please review and say so … I'm trying to decide if this should be more of a series of quick snap shots, or a good amount of the storyline literally told from their POV's. Opinions? Ideas? Review! Please and thank you :) Oh and MERRY CHRISTMAS EVERYONE! **


	3. Jets of Light

**Still Hermione … sorry this isn't a terribly romantic chapter, but as I read more and more in the seventh book, I realized that sometimes I just wanted to read the missed moments of the other two. Once again, if you think this should be more of a series of quick one-shots, review and say so! Thank ya much :)**

As Hermione sat atop the thestral (she could finally see it after the final battle of her sixth year), she had to admit that she was terrified. She didn't enjoy the feeling that came with separating from Ron and Harry and leaving their fates up to chance.

Well, of course it wasn't totally up to chance – they were both excellent wizards. However, she certainly preferred to be able to do something about their safety. She was supposed to have their backs, and they were supposed to have hers.

Kingsley's reassuring presence behind her helped to steady her nerves somewhat, but she couldn't help the tightening in her stomach. The feeling was made even worse when she caught sight of Ron/Harry, on the back of Tonk's broom. She did trust Tonks, however, the older woman wasn't exactly known for her agility or prowess.

Looking at Hagrid and the real Harry, she noted the same thing – and Hagrid didn't even have a real wand! Of course, her mind immediately reprimanded her for thinking such cruel things about the two loyal companions … still, it was Harry and Ron's lives on the line.

"Calm down, nothing is going to happen," she finally chided herself under her breath.

"Good luck everyone!" Moody shouted then, cutting into her thoughts, "See you all in about an hour at the Burrow. On the count of three. One …

Hermione's stomach twisted into knots.

"... two..."

She squeezed her eyes shut, and tightened her grip around Kingsley's waist.

"THREE!"

And they were off. As the thestral beat its powerful wings, taking them off the ground and into the air, Hermione felt a rush of exhilaration, yanking her gut into her throat, and her eyelids wide open. For one moment the smallest laugh escaped her chest and then -

She screamed, instinctively grabbing for her wand. Hooded Death Eaters were on every side of them. She fumbled. Her mind began sorting, as it always did when she panicked.

"Dolohov – Lestrange-" her brain ticked off the figures she could recognize.

"NO!" she shrieked, as green shot towards one of the Harry's. More screams. Colors, chaos – she couldn't keep track of anyone anymore.

"Hang on Harry!" she heard Kingsley shout, and for the swiftest moment she thought wildly that Harry must be somewhere nearby, and then remembered that to anyone looking on, she _was_ Harry. Kingsley was talking to her. Obeying, she locked an arm around Kingsley and raised the other, pointing it just in time to meet a spell aimed at their thestral.

"_Stupefy_!"

They broke away from the rest, followed by a group of Death Eaters. Dutifully, her mind counted them – five, and then attempted to identify. However, the hoods disguised all the others.

"_Diffindo_!" she cried, as one of them raised their wand, but it missed. She ducked her head to avoid a purple jet of light. In front of her, Kingsley's wand was firing stream after stream of curses, though he never uttered a word.

One of them connected with a Death Eater's chest, knocking off his hood and sending him careening to the ground.

"_Petrificus Totalus!_" she screamed, missed again, then, "_Defodio_!" There was a satisfying grunt as her curse gouged a deep cut in what she now recognized as Yaxley's forehead.

"Nice one!" Kingsley shouted, then one of his spells smashed another Death Eater in the gut, doubling him over.

Three down – Hermione felt a rush of hope. They might just get out of this mess alive.

Suddenly, to Hermione's right, the air went cold. She turned her head, and froze. Time seemed to stop as she gazed face to face with Voldemort, gliding freely through the air, his wand aimed and pointed at her heart.

Harry had told her about what it was like confronting him in person, but she had never fully comprehended the paralyzing terror, until now.

"_Avada_-"

With a jolt to reality, Hermione's mouth suddenly worked again. "_Protego! Stupefy! Diffindo!" _she shouted wildly, "_Stupefy, Crucio!" _

And then he was falling back, and in the distance there were calls of,

"We found him!"

"The real Potter!"

"Over here!"

Death Eaters were yelling from ever side. With one last attempt, Voldemort hissed, "_Avada Kedavra_!" but he was too far back, and Kingsley steered the thestral higher just in time. The green light flared harmlessly passed. Then, as though he had never been, Voldemort melted into the night, taking the remaining chaos and Death Eaters with him.

Hermione stared, eyes wide, at the empty spot in the sky where, only moments ago, she had faced the darkest wizard of all times. And now he had gone, back to fight one of her friends – they said they had found the real Harry – that must have been why he left.

But of course, she had to remind herself, Harry had faced Voldemort before. He wouldn't freeze up like she had. And Ron – he was so brave. He doubted himself, but she knew that he could handle it … right? She shivered again. Not knowing was terrifying.

The time that she would have to wait to find out seemed like years, though she knew it was only a few more minutes. She was powerless to help anyone else now, but her eyes strayed behind her and stayed there, into the black night where, somewhere, someone she loved was fighting the most evil wizard that ever lived.

"My home isn't far." Kingsley's words broke the silence, and Hermione felt the rumble of his deep murmur through his back.

She made a noise in her throat in response, and then held on tighter.

**Sorry that was lacking in Ron and Hermione moments – the next chapter should have a bit more. Ron's POV again. And, once more, any thoughts, ideas, suggestions, please review – thanks for all of the reviews, favorites, and alerts. :)**


	4. Dear Aunties

**Thank you to everyone who has reviewed! It means the world – and also, anyone favorites and alerts, muchos gracias. Hopefully this whole bit isn't dragging on, and I understand the thirst for fluff. I'm feeling a little deprived myself, but I am really enjoying the step by step from their POV's. A giant promise now, there WILL be LOTS of fluff :) Thanks for bearing with me.**

There were few women in the world Ron looked forward to seeing less than his Auntie Muriel. The disgusting little hovel filled with (for reasons he would never understand) fur and potent odors of incense might perhaps have been bearable if Muriel was anyone but who she was. He and Tonks ending up as the pair who had to go to her home was an unfortunate turn of events.

Yes, few women in the world that he hated seeing more.

As Bellatrix Lestrange cackled maniacally behind them, shooting unforgivable curse after curse, he couldn't help but note that this insane specimen of a human being was one of them.

"Hold on tight, Ron – I mean Harry, sorry," Tonks muttered. He obeyed wordlessly, holding his wand carefully as he put his arms around her waist. Tonks pointed the broom and dove forward, shooting steeply at what seemed to be directly at a muggle home below. Knowing it wasn't Muriel's, Ron was about to voice his concern, but decided better of it. He was sure Tonks had a purpose.

Bellatrix followed loudly, shrieking about useless relatives and death for the blood traitor. Since Ron was unrecognizable as himself, he could only assume she was speaking of Tonks.

"Shut up!" he finally bellowed, shooting the one non-vocal spell he had mastered back at her. Ironically, it was _Silencio_. With a smirk, he noticed the words stop streaming from her still moving mouth.

"Batty that one," he grumbled, and Tonks congratulated him with a thumbs up.

Suddenly, she veered down a muggle street, flying closer to actual civilization than Ron would ever have dared. She flew sharply through an orchard, then doubled back, and Bellatrix flew far past them in the opposite direction.

"Brilliant," Ron said to her, and it may have been his imagination, but her hair turned just a little bit pinker.

However, the detour had cost them time, and a lot of it. By this point, Ron would be tickled to see his crazy old aunt.

For the first time since their departure, Ron had a moment to think about what had happened. Somebody told on them. Someone amidst their group was a traitor. His grip around Tonks slackened a bit as he thought of this – but no – it couldn't have been...

So many Death Eaters had come – he thought of all the others traveling accompanied by Harry, or looking like Harry tonight. Three of his brothers, his dad, his sister-in-law, Harry – he felt a cold tightening grasp in his gut as the thought the last name, the last person – Hermione. She was out there too.

"This is it, right Ron?" Tonks asked him then. He blinked and glanced around. Seeing the dilapidated little house before them, he nodded.

"Yeah, that's Muriel's alright." Muriel's house with a portkey inside. He had never been so anxious to get off a broom and travel by a nauseating, gut wrenching portkey. _First and last time_, he thought.

When they finally made it inside, Muriel was nearly to the point of a heart attack, clutching her chest, considerably paler than he had last seen her.

"Honestly Ronald, there comes a time when a person deserves some timeliness! You have no idea the misery that was waiting for you – worrying! For all I know you might have been killed, and led those bloody hooligans right to this place! I'm 107 you know …"

"Portkey," Ron returned eloquently.

"It's gone, of course – magical items don't have time for young wizard's dawdling. And don't you use that tone with me!" She paused for a moment in her ranting to appraise Tonks and Ron with her eyebrows raised critically. "Merlin, you both look horrible."

Tonks stood awkwardly; she obviously did not know what sort of reply was warranted for such an observation.

"Why – how peculiar that Andromeda Tonks would let her daughter dress so!" Muriel harumphed, "Hair as short as a boy's! And that color looks like chewing bubblegum – honestly!"

Tonks grinned then, obviously more accustomed to rude comments about her hair than anything else. She winked at Ron. "Sorry Ma'am," and her hair was suddenly a long sheet of honey blonde locks.

Muriel's jaw dropped.

"Thank you for all of your kindness, but we need to be off," she continued, still smiling graciously.

"Oh yes … well ..." Muriel seemed uncomfortable with someone so clearly unaffected by her rudeness. "Well you tell your werewolf husband hello, and Ronald, you tell your werewolf brother hello." She sniffed disdainfully and left the room.

"Charming," Tonks rolled her eyes and left abruptly. Ron followed her, eager to leave.

"Yeah – she's lovely," he snorted as they mounted the broom. They were silent after that as Tonks pulled up. To Ron, at least, there seemed to be a sort of unspoken understanding that neither was in quite the mood for talking. Both of them were thinking of the others - what would they find upon returning to the Burrow?

However, that didn't last for more than a moment, as, suddenly, passing the magical barriers set around Muriel's house, they were surrounded again by not only Bellatrix Lestrange but several more hooded Death Eaters. Cursing loudly, Tonks struggled for a moment in pulling her wand out, and aimed the broom almost straight up, shooting vertically into the sky.

"Where are you going, niece?" Bellatrix screamed after them, "I have something to discuss with you!"

A killing curse barely missed Ron's ear.

He raised his wand and pointed it behind him.

"_Stupefy_!" he shouted, aiming for the biggest of the death eaters in pursuit.

As the jet of light that shot from his wand hit a Death Eater's head, it knocked the man off of his broom. As Tonks cheered, and nearly lost control of the broom for a moment, Ron felt a wonderful exhilaration. He couldn't believe a shot aimed while they were moving, during the night, most incredibly by his own hand, had struck true.

"Amazing hit!" Tonks said, and Ron felt his entire face turn pink enough to match her hair. They both quickly sobered however as the Death Eaters caught up to them. Tonks was too focused on maneuvering around trees and street lamps trying to lose their pursuers that Ron was left to take on the five or so death eaters on his own.

"_Impedimenta_!" he shouted, which stopped three of them for a moment. The other two, Bellatrix included, veered around it just in time, and followed just as quickly.

"Your filthy parents will sure miss their freak of a daughter!" Bellatrix screeched, "You make a smashing pair, you and the other blood traitor – Weasley – almost as sweet as you and that werewolf of yours!"

Ron realized with alarm that he looked like himself again. Tonks didn't seem to be quite so worried about this revelation, instead turning to aim directly at Bellatrix's heart. "_Confringo_!" she snarled.

"_Protego_," Bellatrix drawled lazily.

"Hold on Ron," Tonks grunted, and once more, he obeyed without question. Tonks pulled sharply out of her flight forward, and, to Ron's shock, shot directly at Bellatrix. She seemed taken just as off guard as Ron was, as her eyes widened - her broom dropped several feet.

"Good to see you, Auntie!" Tonks cried, and a stream of light shot from her wand, encircling Bellatrix and the two Death Eaters next to her with a ring of blue fire.

Ron's jaw dropped as, apparently satisfied, Tonks sped away down an unrecognizable street. It was apparently a shortcut to his home. The Burrow was finally in sight and, to Ron's utter relief, so were several figures standing in the front lawn, one of whom that was familiar and decidedly feminine.

"Ron, do me a favor and don't expound too heavily on the details of that little encounter with my dear aunt to Remus," Tonks asked him, almost bashfully, as they came closer and closer to the house. Ron grunted in response, though why she thought that he had any intention of having a long conversation with anyone besides Hermione and (he thought guiltily after a moment) Harry, he had no idea.


	5. Shocks of Pink and Orange

**This is going on while many of the same events are transpiring from the last chapter – just this is Hermione's POV, obviously. Thank you so much for bearing with me, and naturally, thank you for reading, reviewing, favoriting, alerting, etc, etc. It means the world. **

"Who else is back?" Kingsley demanded, and Hermione let up on the hold she had around Harry's neck to hear the answer. Ron – Ron's name was the one she needed to hear. She expected to hear it – he must have arrived safely.

"Only Harry, Hagrid, George and me," Lupin replied, and his tone was strained.

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth to cover her gasp, or sob, or whatever was the result of the huge knot in her chest. Ron should be back by now. He should have been back first. That was part of the plan – how _dare_ he break the plan? Didn't he realize why he could not break the plan?

The others' words were lost to her then, as her eyes returned to the sky.

It was a vast stretch of absolute emptiness. "You have to come back," she whispered forcefully to the missing Ron, then, from the other conversation -

"-behaved a little too kindly to Stan Shunpike."

"Stan?" she asked, distracted for a moment with the mention of such an unexpected, familiar name. "But I thought he was in Azkaban?"

Kingsley laughed at her, though it obviously wasn't because she was being funny. Normally, this type of scorn would have irritated her to no end. At this point she didn't mind at all. She couldn't care less about anything that wasn't an explanation for what had happened that night.

"Hermione, there's obviously been a mass breakout which the ministry has hushed up-" he started, facing her, then turned to Remus as he continued.

Mass breakout – lovely – Hermione's mind shut them out once more. It was better not to heare this. She only had the strength to worry about one thing now. Her gaze shifted back to the stars.

"You agreed you know." She continued her conversation with Ron as though it had never been interrupted – as though he was there. "You agreed to be fine."

The outlines of the clouds in the dark night mocked her. The sky was empty.

"Where's George?" she heard distantly, and she wondered enough to hear the answer -

"He lost an ear."

Hermione started and jerked around. "Lost an - ?"

"Snape's work," said Lupin, and Hermione wondered how, in Merlin's name, he wasn't panicking like she wanted to be. She stared, gaping, as Lupin repeated the terrifying events leading up to the loss of an entire body part evenly, his words not breaking for a moment. What was wrong with him, she wondered, getting unreasonably upset – his wife was missing too!

Unable to look at his serene face for a moment more, she spun back around, forced thoughts of the maimed George out of her mind, and returned to her vigil staring up at the sky. When she looked down for a moment, she noticed that her hands were twisting anxiously. She wondered how long since that had been going on.

Hermione didn't turn as Hagrid called Harry from the doorway for help and, she noticed, neither did Lupin. He was now mimicking her position, face angled up to the stars. Up towards hope.

For a moment, she took in his expression, and then she felt a sharp stab of guilt. His face, which had, moments previously, been a mask of calm, looked moments away from hysteria. There was anger, worry, regret and, Hermione could see easily now, terror. His expression, she was sure, matched her own. Of course Lupin would be the one able to pretend better than any of the rest.

"They'll be fine," she suddenly murmured, not even realizing before speaking that she was going to. Finally she was saying words for someone else's sake just as much as her own. Lupin glanced at her as though he was only realizing she was there too, and gave her a barely perceptible nod.

There was suddenly a sort of shifting in the air in front of them. Hermione and Lupin both started forward, transfixed, as a broom suddenly materialized right above them.

However, there were two heads of red, one was balding, and neither was the shade of bubblegum. Hermione moaned quietly, biting her lip. She chewed so hard that she tasted blood. Lupin cursed once, fiercely, under his breath.

Kingsley had his wand out then, and Ron's father was yelling, but Hermione only spared them the smallest glance. Lupin didn't pay much more attention, and Hermione felt a strange connection to this man, who would be, if possible, even more relieved than she would to see a certain broom appear.

Hagrid strode out to join them. She didn't blink. Then came Harry and Ginny, but still, she was riveted. Behind her, there was a swish. Their whole party turned around in time to see a branch sway. They glanced around to see the wind blowing, or hear a door shutting from inside. All of them were anxious to believe that any of these motions or noises might be a returning order member.

Suddenly, there was more movement from above. She stared at the sky in time to see a broom shooting towards them.

This time, there were two shocks of hair – one was pink, one was bright, beautiful orange.

"It's them!" she choked shrilly, and she very nearly sobbed in relief. She didn't back away or bat an eyelash when rocks sprayed around them, or when Tonks fell past her, and into Lupin's embrace. From the corner of her eyes, she noticed his hands grasping Tonks flush to his chest. His words were angry sounding, but she could read the relief, the joy underneath them.

Hermione, it seemed, couldn't move, however. She watched as Ron – whole, unbleeding, miraculous Ron – tripped towards her. She took him in, every blessed inch of him, here, here, here!

"You're okay," he said, and he was staring at her. His words seemed to jerk Hermione back to reality, and in a moment she was holding onto him, in all of his glorious solidity.

"I thought – I thought -" she told him, attempting to convey all of her reproach, and all of her relief.

"'M all right," Ron assured her, the hand around her patting her back softly, "'M fine." Hermione squeezed him tighter, and his chin settled on top of her head. He used one hand to press her forehead gently into his shoulder. "And so are you," she heard him whisper into her hair, and she smiled.

"Ron was great – wonderful," said Tonks's voice from somewhere beyond Ron's warm, wide chest. "Stunned one of the Death Eaters, straight to the head, and when you're aiming at a moving target from a flying broom ..."

Hermione pulled away to stare into his face. This new revelation brought back the reality of the terrifying chase crashing down.

"You did?" she asked him breathlessly, thinking that the boy standing in front of her was a hero.

She regretted her words immediately as Ron pulled free of her arms muttering, "Always the tone of surprise. Are we the last back?"

After that, she only half listened to Tonks, and the conversation in general. She was too busy staring regretfully, but so happily, at the radiant sight that was Ron and Harry – both here, both safe, both with in protection's distance.

She turned to look at Ron again, over the shoulder of his mum, who was currently squeezing her youngest son in an embrace tight enough to rival the giant squid's. He met her eyes, and they exchanged the most fleeting of glances. Still, it was enough. He'd looked at her so warmly, his eyes matching her utter relief, that she knew she'd already been forgiven.


	6. Distractions

**Annd here we go with chapter six – luckily there is a little more face to face interaction between the two of them. Suggestions, ideas, anything – please review! Thank you so much to everyone who reads and all of the other stuff. (Special shout out to alohamora080 for all of your amazing suggestions!)**

Harry stared around at all of them, and Ron immediately recognized the expression on his face – angry, frustrated – bordering on unreasonable. He knew he should say something, but instead he leaned back in his lumpy spot on the sofa next to Hermione, and tried to keep his face well hidden in shadows.

Hermione glanced his way, searching, obviously, for an answer. He shrugged, wishing he had one to give. He would never fully understand Harry.

"I – need to breathe a little – fresh air," Harry finally spluttered, and backed away like a caged animal through the door. He opened it and faded quickly into the night. As soon as it was closed behind him, conversations broke out all over the place. Remus and Arthur were discussing means of appeasing Harry, while still convincing him that his wand didn't act of its own choice. Bill was murmuring something in a low voice to his beautiful fiancée. Molly was rambling to the closest person to her, Ginny, about how selfish it was of Harry to think that they could possibly allow him to leave.

"Ron … why is what Harry said so hard to believe?" Hermione asked from next to him. He turned to look at her and, thinking about it, understood exactly what she meant. Up until this point, whenever Harry was discredited as being uselessly paranoid, he was right a majority of the time. Even in first year, when he'd mistrusted Snape and had been repeatedly chastised for it – look how that had turned out.

"Blimey – you'd think we'd have learned by now," he finally agreed with her, and she smiled, realising that they were on the same page. For some reason, her sweet expression acted as a sort of catalyst, causing him to stand decisively from the couch and clear his throat.

"Listen -" he started, and everyone gazed back at him blankly. It was more than a little unnerving to have so many of those older than him, wiser than him, more experienced than him, many of them related to him, staring at him like that. He was on the verge of insisting that all he needed was some more firewhisky, when Hermione was suddenly standing next to him, beaming encouragingly up at his face.

That was enough.

"We're all acting like prats," he finally told the room, careful not to look at any of their faces. "Harry's instinct has almost always been right. O'course sometimes he _is_ a fair bit unreasonable with that hero bit, but Dumbledore trusted him, for good reason, and so should we. He doesn't deserve to be treated like a child when he has been through just as much as, or more, than most everyone here."

Silence followed his little speech, and he could feel his face flaming. Then, Ginny suddenly pitched in heartily, "Well said Ron!"

The room once again burst into conversation and noise. Maybe it was false hopes, but he thought that the tone had changed somewhat, and none of them seemed to be ready to curse or hex him anytime soon. He realized then that he was still standing, and was about to sit promptly back down, when, alarming him, Hermione's hand reached out and grabbed his forearm.

"Sorry," she blushed, when he jumped a little, but she didn't let go. Instead, she lightly tugged him towards the back door that, moments previously, Harry had disappeared out of.

Once they were alone, Hermione nudged his shoulder (or the highest spot on his arm she could reach) with her own. "That was admirable, Ron," she said, and he thought he might have heard the faintest hint of nervousness in her voice. He was grateful for the darkness that concealed the heat he could feel in his ears and cheeks.

"Well you were the one who said something in the first place," he replied, wishing that for once his words could come out as prettily as hers did.

"It takes courage to say that to a whole room of a crowd like that," she countered, and he could hear the smile in her tone. It made a lovely picture in his mind. She didn't smile nearly often enough anymore.

"Er – thanks then," he muttered finally, forgetting what the conversation had been about.

She was making a noise of assent, but cut off with a sudden gasp. Her hand shot out to grab Ron's arm fiercely. The suddenness of her actions made him jerk, and, startled, he looked around worriedly. Seeing nothing but a thestral, he exhaled slowly. "Blimey woman, how many times are you going to do that today?"

"Sorry, sorry," Hermione's small voice came from the dark. "The thestral – I didn't realize – it just appeared out of nowhere," her words were laced with humiliation, but also the tiniest tremor.

Ron immediately felt bad, realizing how jittery she still must be – from what he'd heard, she had faced Voldemort, then waited, thinking he himself could be dead, only to find out that Mad Eye really was. One of the strongest people either of them had ever met was gone, and Ron realized that with the number of people she had lost recently, it wasn't any wonder that she was so jumpy and morose.

After all, he still had a whole household of family mere footsteps away.

"Don't apologize," he insisted, and was about to throw his arm around her shoulders as he had finally become comfortable with in those situations. However, it was then that he noticed a lone shape by the garden gate.

Hermione, evidently noticing at the same time, cried, "Harry!" and ran over. Ron followed, feeling guilty that his best mate, who had the weight of the world on his shoulders, had slipped his mind for those few moments spent only in the company of the beautiful brunette that was his other best friend.

He arrived in time to hear Hermione insisting that Harry return to the house.

"Yeah, you've got to stay, mate," he agreed, hitting Harry fondly on the back. Despite the distraction Hermione had provided, he sincerely meant those words.

"Are you all right? You look awful," Hermione said. Looking closer, Ron realized that Harry, indeed, was ghostly white and shivering, though beads of sweat were glistening on his forehead.

"Well I probably look better than Ollivander."

"What - ?" Ron questioned, and Harry told them everything he had seen. When he reached the part about the frail old wandmaker being tortured by Voldemort himself, Ron noticed that Hermione looked fit to swoon. Her eyes were wide and her face was drained of color. He gently placed a hand on her back, as Harry finished the awful tale.

When it was over, Ron gaped at Harry, disgusted and shaken to think of the picture he had painted for them. Hermione immediately went off about Harry closing his mind, harping about Voldemort picking his brains, or something of the sort. He nodded occasionally, and tried to ignore the sudden twinge of envy that occurred when Hermione's hand landed on Harry's arm – and stayed there.

**Well another chapter finished, sorry that they're all so short! I'm trying to balance the "moments" aspect of it with the telling a full tale side. And just so you know, I can't wait to expound on the chapters of cleaning the house, the wedding, Grimmauld place, etc., so I hope you'll bear with me through these other chapters. Regardless of how you feel, once again, please review!**


	7. Sorting Books

**Finally, a happy chapter :) Mostly anyway. It made me happy. Please review with suggestions, etc, etc, whatever you feel like. And I take every one into account, I promise. If the characters are OOC, let me just say that first, I am very sorry. Also, I am trying to make a Ron and Hermione that are very clearly themselves, but that don't carry quite the weight Harry does on his shoulder, and that can honestly enjoy each others company. Ohhh, and also, a quick mistake to rectify, THIS chapter is taking place on July 27, 1997, and the first chapter was actually July 24, 1997, as opposed to what I posted earlier. I will be sure to change it, and here ya go.**

Hermione was startled at Ron's sudden outburst at dinner several days later, but couldn't deny that he wasn't the only one fed up with Molly's manic efforts to keep the three of them separated. That is why, when she was asked for the second time to change the sheets for the Delacours, she only nodded meekly and held in a smirk.

When dinner was over, she walked first towards the Delacours' bedroom. As soon as she knew Molly was no longer looking and had bustled into the kitchen, Hermione spun around and made for the stairs. She took them two at a time until she was almost to Ron's landing. Then she stopped, caught her breath, and walked the rest of the way up. There was no need for him to hear how anxious she was to see him by herself for once.

Smirking at the large Chudley Cannons poster plastered to his door, she creaked it open slowly. Before she could say anything, however, she caught sight of Ron and smiled.

He was lying on his bed, his disaster of a room unchanged from the last time she had seen it. His eyes were closed, and pointed at the ceiling, and he had a half smile on his face. Though she rarely saw Ron looking this peaceful, that wasn't what set her off beaming like a dolt. Instead, her eyes strayed to his hand, where he was gently stroking a purring Crookshanks.

Time evaporated as she stood there in the doorway. She didn't have the sense to move, or to feel ridiculous for standing still. Watching him at that moment, or several moments, in the midst of his messy room, relaxed, content, and petting _her_ cat no less. In the world right now, with the three of them at least, times like this hardly ever happened. Seeing Ron look so careless was a rare indulgence.

She didn't realize that she had sighed out loud until Ron's eyes flew open, and he shot up immediately in his bed, startling Crookshanks off of it with an affronted hiss.

"I was – er ..." Ron nearly toppled off in his haste to pick up the clothes that lay scattered around him. Hermione, who had been mortified herself to have been caught staring at him, felt immediately more confident as she saw how embarrassed she had made him. There was something oddly victorious in the fact that he wasn't the only one who could make the other nervous.

"Honestly Ron, you are welcome to continue caressing my, er, what was it, 'big, stupid furball?'" She grinned as he registered the third year insult to her pet, "It's actually rather sweet."

He rolled his eyes and walked over to lay back on his bed, crossing his arms behind his head. "You have to admit that he was pretty ferocious," he told her, wagging a finger in Crookshanks's direction. When Hermione opened her mouth to protest, he cut in, "Though I reckon he did help uncover Pettigrew-" he made a face- "and he _is_ a fellow ginger."

Hermione stepped over a thrown open suitcase to sit on the foot of his bed, where Crookshanks had regained a position. She began distractedly massaging the feline's ears. "Not nearly so ticklish though," she grinned wryly back at Ron.

"Don't you dare," he warned, edging away from her. But his tone was facetious, and she could tell that he was repressing a smile. Hermione thought of when she had discovered this random trivia about him, and couldn't help but throw in, "Why not, _Won Won?_"

She was mocking him mercilessly, she knew, and she finally solicited a scowl. Pointing a finger direly at her, he growled, "Enough with … _her_! And speaking of cruelly bringing up embarrassments from the past..."

He was successful in igniting her curiosity. She had no idea what he was getting off on. He pulled out, from the shelf behind him, a small, pink bottle that was only vaguely familiar. "What …?" she asked, leaning closer.

"Lucille's magical frizz control for the lusciously curled locks," he read jubilantly, dodging Hermione's hands, which were suddenly frantically reaching for the tiny container held just out of reach. "A guaranteed beauty potion, with whimsically dramatic results – what does that rubbish even mean?"

"Oh you wart!" she cried, unable to refrain from laughing along with him. Ron doubled over, giving her the distraction needed to shout hurriedly, "Accio bottle!" and snatch it triumphantly out of the air. Spinning on Ron, she demanded, "Where did you get that?" She tried to look fierce, but couldn't stop herself from collapsing into another fit of giggles.

"Ginny," he snorted, "She borrowed it once and never gave it back."

"Well it worked well enough in fourth year," she finally justified, but any other harsh words died on her tongue. She realized in a heated gust of reality that she and Ron were in closer proximity than she'd anticipated. She could see his blond eyelashes, and could have counted his freckles had she gotten the urge.

He was gazing back at her, right at her nose it seemed. Then his eyes slowly wandered up, passed her eyes and hair, and finally towards the ceiling. He gulped audibly. "The paint's bloody awful in here." His words were strangled, and the tell-tale pink flush was flooding his face and ears.

Forgetting to chide him for cursing, she instead stammered, "I better work on packing, I have loads to do still." She slid off his bed and began pulling out all of the books she had recently stashed underneath it.

"You could sit up here, I'll sit on the floor," Ron offered, half standing already.

The gallant gesture would feel odd, but they were becoming increasingly common. Ever since Dumbledore's funeral, he was always willing to comfort her with an arm or shoulder, would jump up and lend her a seat any time he had the chance, and was always first to offer aid in any way, such as when he asked her if she wanted to ride his broom with him. She wondered if it had anything to do with Molly or Ginny, though she wasn't complaining. The new side to Ron was unbelievably endearing.

"Thank you, but that's quite all right. I can work much better from here anyway. I don't suppose you happen to have any loose books lying around in here?"

"Nope," Ron replied hurriedly, flushing and readjusting himself in front of the headboard. Hermione appraised him with raised eyebrows, knowing he was hiding something, but not wanting to push it.

"All right, but those spell books might come in handy one of these days," she told him instead, pretending not to have noticed.

"Right," Ron grinned, "Constant vigilance!"

Hermione laughed, but they both quickly fell silent. The catch phrase was robbed of humor now that it's author had died.

"I miss him," Hermione admitted. Her eyes were in danger of clouding up, so she shifted her focus to the stack of books at her feet. Ron sighed and suddenly foisted Crookshanks off the bed, and by Hermione's instead. "He's pretty good at cheering up," he smiled in explanation, "And besides – I already took your hair paste – couldn't very well scarper your cat now too."

Ignoring the fact that he'd referred to her hair potion as "paste," Hermione put her arms around Crookshanks and beamed up at him gratefully. "How chivalrous of you," she teased, but she was honestly, embarrassingly, touched.

"Gryffindor," he reminded her with a smile, then continued, "And I miss him too Hermione. We all do."

Just then, they heard someone pounding up the stairs, and figuring it must be Molly, Hermione went back to diligently sorting books, and Ron jumped off of the bed and began throwing things manically behind cupboards and under dressers.

A few seconds later, when the door opened to reveal only Harry, Hermione sighed a bit with relief. Still though, she couldn't deny that Harry had brought in with him the air of a lost moment.

**As soon as possible, I am going to do a one-shot of the moment I mentioned in here – when Hermione discovered that Ron was ticklish. Keep an eye out, and I will try and get it posted as soon as possible. Review please, and lovely day to you all :)**


	8. Flashback

**And here you are everyone, the one-shot insert from their sixth year at Hogwarts. I'm thinking that on occasion they might make references to certain times in their previous years that I will then do one-shot inserts about to expound upon them. Yay or nay? Hope you enjoy, please review, and thank you all so much :)**

Once McLaggen smashed the beater's bat into Harry's face, knocking him off his broom, Hermione checked to make sure everything was all right, and then hurried up to the hospital wing to wait for them to bring Harry up. She knew that anywhere else she would only be in the way. Also, though she didn't admit this openly to herself, she was intent on explaining the situation to Ron before he panicked like she knew he would when he saw Harry's unconscious form on a stretcher.

She found it ironic that, had it been up to her, she would have happily skipped the Quidditch match in order to stay in exactly the place that she was heading to now. It only took her other best friend being knocked from a broom for her to have a good enough reason.

When she arrived there, Ron already sat stiffly erect, obviously straining to hear whatever was going on out on the pitch.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed when he saw her. She couldn't help but notice his obvious enthusiasm, though she told herself it was only because he knew she could tell him what was going on. Even from here, he must have heard the commotion.

"Cormac smacked Harry with the beater's bat," she answered before he could vocalize the question.

Ron's jaw dropped. "But he's … keeper and – on our – "

"Team, yes," Hermione rolled her eyes, "He was attempting to show the beater how to-" she raised two fingers, making quotation marks in the air "-properly hit a bludger."

"Brilliant!" Ron smirked, and then looked guilty when Hermione shot him a sharp glare. "Well now everyone knows how much of a prat he is – I mean, is Harry all right?"

"Harry's unconscious -" Ron looked properly chagrined at this "- but he'll be fine. And honestly Ron, everyone knows McLaggen's a prat anyway. There wasn't doubt in anyone's head who the keeper on that team should be."

He looked delighted to hear this, though his glee was short lived as Dumbledore, Madam Hooch and McGonagall followed a stretcher bearing the unmoving Harry into the hospital wing.

Once the chaos died down, and all of Harry's visitors (Ginny, Luna, the rest of the Gryffindor team aside from McLaggen, and Hagrid) had left the room, Hermione remained sitting on the chair between Ron and Harry.

"Care for some exploding snap?" Ron asked her, and he pulled the deck from the side table. He had to extract it from under the large wizards' chess book (one that responded to questions about strategy by automatically flipping open to the page needed) that she had given him as a late birthday present. She waited three days after his birthday before finally mustering up the courage to give it to him, though she needn't have worried. He'd loved it.

Grinning, she scooted her chair and the end table over while he dealt the cards. They started immediately, jumping back into their old habits of competition at the one task they were somewhat evenly matched at.

Laughing loudly as Ron cursed a burned finger nearly an hour later, Hermione didn't hear the hospital wing door swinging open until it was almost too late.

Acting like children caught committing some sort of mischief, Ron magicked away the deck of cards, and Hermione slid the end table back into its former position, and turned to face their visitor. Her eyes widened when she saw an irritable and suspicious looking Lavender Brown standing stiffly in the doorway.

"Oh, er, hello there," Hermione greeted.

Lavender ignored this. Her eyes instead traveled to Ron – her boyfriend, Hermione remembered with a pang of bitterness – and narrowed.

"How long has he been asleep?" she snapped.

Surprised, Hermione glanced back at Ron, who was indeed lying as though unconscious, his breathing deep, eyes closed. Even if she didn't already know how unlikely it was that he'd fallen asleep in the few seconds since she'd turned around, Hermione knew him well enough to know that if Ron was slumbering that deeply, he would be snoring.

"Er, an hour maybe?" Hermione finally told Lavender, though she knew that she'd paused for a moment too long. In an attempt to cover for herself, she hastily added, "I mostly came for Harry, I haven't been paying much attention to Ron at all."

Lavender's eyebrows shot up into her hairline, and one of her manicured hands fell onto her hip. "Funny, then, that you're facing Ronald."

However hilarious Lavender using Ron's full name would normally have been, Hermione felt no amusement at the moment. "Erm, yes, well, you see, he was making some sort of gasping, hissing noises a minute ago," she made up wildly on the spot, and was satisfied as Lavender's expression turned to one of agitated concern.

"I'm glad you're finally here," Hermione continued, unable to resist, "I'm a bit tired of watching him, though I thought it was only right. I couldn't very well let a patient have a seizure without warning someone." She couldn't noticed how the corners of Ron's mouth twitched.

"Umph," he grunted, still feigning sleep.

"Oh you're right," Lavender moaned, obviously taking this as the "gasping, hissing noises" Hermione had told her about.

The latter watched with what would be envy, though she couldn't deny that Ron's pretending sleep to avoid talking to the girl currently draped across his body gave her a triumphant, giddy feeling that she attempted in vain to beat down.

"Won-Won, it's me," Lavender murmured soothingly, "I won't let anything happen to you."

Her hands roamed over his torso, patting and fluttering in what Hermione could only assume was supposed to be some sort of reviving gesture. When she probed a spot just below his arm pit, however, Ron winced slightly and made a hissing noise through his teeth, shirking away from her.

"Oh, no, no, I'm sorry sweetheart," Lavender mourned, and jumped away. It gave Ron the time he needed to compose his face again. To Hermione's amusement and disgust, Lavender waited only a moment to continue her prodding. When she continued soliciting small gasps and jerks from the still supposedly sleeping Ron, she became more enthusiastic.

"Yes, that's it," she told him encouragingly, "Wake up sweetheart!" Both of her hands were on his sides, and finally with a yelp, Ron burst into uncontrollable laughter, batting her off of him.

When she looked hurt and alarmed, Hermione quickly cut in, "Oh, this must be what the others talked about – they said that when he wakes up he's always either crying or laughing hysterically … I personally haven't seen him awake yet."

Lavender nodded understandingly and turned back to Ron. "Are you awake now Won-Won?"

Ron, in a bout of truly atrocious acting, fluttered his eyelashes weakly and cleared his throat. "Blimey," he shrugged, looking supremely guilty, "It's you."

"Who else would it be?" Lavender snapped crossly.

"Er … good question," he shrugged.

Hermione snorted, then tried to cover it up with a cough as Ron and Lavender both glanced to her. "Beg pardon," she squeaked, and moved her chair so that she was fully facing Harry now.

"Kiss me then - I'm going back to the common room." she heard Lavender demand coldly, and held in a fit of giggles as Ron replied, in strangled tones,

"Well, you are all the way over there –"

She must have quelled him with some look or gesture that Hermione couldn't see, because the next moment Ron was hurriedly muttering, "Erm yeah, alright, come over here then?" he seemed uncertain of what exactly it was she wanted him to do.

Hermione grimaced to hear the sounds of a wet kiss, and then not even a good bye. She watched with growing amusement as Lavender stalked angrily from the room, letting the door swing fiercely shut behind her.

_Muffliato_, Hermione thought quickly in her head, and waved her wand in Madam Pomfrey's direction, so that she wouldn't come to investigate. When the door had closed safely behind Ron's affronted girlfriend, Hermione finally turned to face him, letting out the laughter she'd been holding in.

"Oh shove off," he growled at her, and tossed his pillow at her face.

She caught it with little effort and fluffed it primly, stuffing it comfortably behind her back. Then she smirked as he realized that she wasn't returning the pillow and cursed.

"Nice, Won-Won," she mocked.

"Shut it," he snarled, smiling a bit in spite himself, "And gimme back my pillow."

"I would, but it's quite comfortable," she retorted, and gasped shrilly when he suddenly lunged forward, obviously attempting to regain the stolen item by force.

However, remembering how affected he was when Lavender touched his sides, she reached out and tickled him, successfully thwarting his efforts. Cackling unwillingly, he recoiled and flopped back onto his bed, defeated and panting.

"Remember Won-Won," Hermione told him wryly, "that now I know how ticklish you are." She tossed the pillow back.

"Why do I get the feeling that I never should have let you find that out?" he asked, only half worried, placing it back behind his head.

"Because you shouldn't have," Hermione confirmed with a grin. "Now how about that game of exploding snap?"


	9. Avalanche of Boxes

**Okey dokey, time for chapter 9. Tell me if you find their behaviour in this chapter far-fetched, but I honestly don't think so. And regardless, I sure enjoyed writing it :) Please review!**

Ron stared at Hermione Granger. He couldn't think of much he'd rather do. Even throwing his arm around her shoulders which, admittedly, was pleasant, generally needed a good enough excuse, like her crying, which was a definite downer.

No, admiring her from his perch on the bed would have to do for now. She amazed him, and not only because of her insane amount of intelligence. He thought about the conversation they'd been having in the last few minutes.

_"I've been packing for days,so we'll be ready to leave at a moment's notice – Modified my parents' memories – I've been researching that -"_

The girl was more prepared than he was, certainly, and probably Harry as well. Ron used to think females were too emotional, but he was starting to realize that their astounding ability – Hermione's, anyway, to conceal and move beyond their emotions, made them infinitely more admirable.

He felt an inexplicable anger at the things she'd already had to do for those bloody horcruxes.

_"...it's a horrible book, really awful, full of evil magic – Wendall and Monica Wilkins don't know that they've got a daughter ..."_

He hated that she'd gone through all of that, been exposed to books like that, and all he wanted to do was force her to stay home with his mom and Ginny, or send her to Australia to be safe with her parents. Of course, he'd no sooner suggest that then provoke a centaur. Any implication of her inferiority, no matter what he actually meant by it, was sure to set off Hermione's wrathful indignation. He should know.

He wanted to say something though, anything to give her somewhat of an idea of how sorry he was for it all, or how incredible he thought she was. And then his door flew open, his livid Mum glaring at them, and for the moment, thoughts of Hermione were forcefully driven from his mind.

When he and Harry arrived in Mrs. Weasley's room minutes later, where the intimidatingly large pile of presents was stashed, it seemed they would be the only two doing the gift sorting. Then, seeming to appear out of thin air, Ginny's fiery head of hair and Hermione's curly one bobbed from behind the mound.

"Come to join the party?" Ginny asked sardonically, and made her way over to sit next to Harry. Ron, pressing himself against the wall to avoid collision with an assuredly expensive wedding gift, shuffled to the other side, where Hermione already had a list started of guests that would need thank-you notes.

"Would you mind grabbing that gold package up there?" she asked immediately, as though he'd been there the whole time. Smiling to himself, he complied, and passed the box down to a cross-legged Hermione.

"This one has no name attached," she sighed a moment later. "Already that's seven guests who will either have to be tracked down by other means, or simply never be thanked."

"And those seven guests waiting anxiously by their windows for the owls that will never come will have to occupy their thoughts with the more trivial things of the world, like staying alive in the midst of a wizarding war." He shook his head regretfully.

Hermione scowled back at him for only a little while before huffing a resigned sigh. She dropped the list. "You're right," she admitted, "This is pointless."

"Nah," Ron grinned, I love the list. And Mum wants one too. C'mon," he beckoned her forward, "Have you already written down Antoinette Delacour?"

Coming to sit next to him, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall behind them. "I'm tired of sorting things, and thinking of details about events that I'd rather forget about right now," she told him, her eyes never opening.

"You've done enough," Ron replied, hurriedly, "You've done more than anyone, Hermione. You deserve a break."

Her eyes fluttered open, and crinkled; she was smiling at him. Their shoulders were touching, and her hair was spilling over his arm. It smelled like fruit, like she always did, but it was wafting into his face, and those eyes were beaming at him. Her nose, he noticed, had the usual six freckles, but there were four additional ones smattered across her cheeks.

Her smile faltered for a moment, and she started chewing on her bottom lip. So she was nervous – something about that made his heart start pumping even faster than it already was. Her eyes weren't crinkled anymore, but they weren't breaking contact with his either. Her eyelashes were dark, black even. She must have that paste stuff off – macksara, or whatever she called it. He didn't mind it though – her eyes always looked nice.

She was still chewing away at her lip, and Ron couldn't help but glance down at them. He loved her lips, embarrassingly enough to admit. They were never chapped, like his always were, and so pink. He liked how sometimes, like right now, the color matched her cheeks.

He wanted to kiss her, he realized. Not that he hadn't wanted to for a long time before that moment, because he bloody well had, a good deal of times. However, it had always been a far off wish, or, more accurately, dream. Many dreams. And now, behind a suddenly blessed mountain of presents, there was no doubt in his mind that he was about to.

"A break would be nice," Hermione was murmuring now. This confused him, until he remembered that they had indeed been mentioning breaks of some sort. He would have answered her, but her eyes were getting wider and wider, and closer and closer, and _oh_ they were so warm and brown. He couldn't breathe, nor did he have much interest in it. All he could think about was how her cheeks were so pink, and his hand was moving up to cover one of them, and her lips were so pink, and so close.

Then, an avalanche of boxes was suddenly tumbling on top of and around them.

They jerked apart, Hermione screamed, and Ginny swore from somewhere above them and beyond the now chaotic mass of gifts. In one hand, she was holding an ivory parcel with a large, pink bow. Ron changed his mind – he hated pink.

"Oops," she shrugged, "I guess next time I'll stick with the top of the pile."

Harry started to laugh, saying something like, "Good one, Gin."

Hermione started chuckling next, and Ron noticed that her face was still flushed. Then Ginny, and so Ron, reluctantly, joined in. Honestly though, he didn't find it all that amusing.


	10. Birthday Interruptions

**July 31, 1997 – there has been the tiniest bit of confusion on the dates, but just for the record, I am going by the hints of time in the book, and have not googled or wikied (or whatever the proper term is) any of this, (besides what we get on JK Rowling's brilliant website) and to my knowledge, my dates correspond well with the book's. Still, if you disagree, I would love for you to address your concerns … I could be so very wrong :) Please review, and thank you, thank you, thank you. I greatly appreciate it. **

Ron's palm was more calloused than she'd expected, but softer too. Or maybe he was just cradling her face so gently, so sweetly. He was leaning forward now, and she couldn't look away from those piercing, beautiful blue eyes. They were clear, but with dark rims around his irises, and she loved them. His eyelashes were so long, and somehow they were darker than the hair on his head – more auburn, brunette even.

He was leaning so close now, and he was about to kiss her, and she couldn't breathe, but her chest was heaving anyway.

"Won-Won!" suddenly Lavender Brown was standing at the top of the large pile of presents, and as they tumbled towards Ron and Hermione, she slid down gracefully and landed in front of them, steam literally coming from her ears. "Get away from her!"

They jumped away from each other, and everything was wrong, everything was so wrong.

"Hermione!"

Her eyes flew open, her heart was pounding. "Merlin Ginny!" she gasped to the redheaded girl peering down at her.

"I need your help," Ginny replied, as though she hadn't just jerked Hermione rudely from blissful unconsciousness.

"What is it?" She scrubbed some of the sleep residue from her heavy eyes.

"It's Harry's birthday," Ginny moaned, and slapped her head into her palm.

Puzzled, Hermione nodded sleepily, not seeing the connection. It was Harry's birthday. She had a present already, as far as she knew, they weren't expecting a death eater attack, or planning any high-risk operations. There was no logical reason that Ginny should be angry, or that Hermione shouldn't be able to melt back into the warm sheets that she could feel tantalizingly beneath her.

"I … am confused," she finally yawned.

"Don't you see?" Ginny asked direly, hands on her hips. She was so like Molly, and if it weren't for this, Hermione would have closed her eyes by now.

"Not at all," she admitted, trying to smile sympathetically.

"I have nothing to give him," Ginny finally clarified, her tone one of mourning. "I just … I couldn't decide, and it crept up on me."

"Ginny, you didn't have to – "

"But you did!"

Hermione cut off, bemused again. Her head was so fuzzy – she didn't want to puzzle out Ginny's angst anymore. She wanted to fall back into her bed, and she wanted Lavender to disappear and to have Ron's warm hand on her face. Most of all, she wanted his mouth to make it all the way to hers this time.

"Yes, Ginny, I got him a present but – "

"He can't get a present from everyone _but_ me!"

Hermione fell silent again. "Whatever you get him will mean the world, Ginny."

"But I haven't gotten him anything!"

Hermione began to massage her forehead, then her eyes. It was so bloody bright. Heavens how she hated the morning.

"... give him one of your Quidditch posters," she suggested lamely, still thinking of Ron. Ron had lots of Quidditch posters. "Stop it," she muttered, under her breath, so that Ginny didn't hear her. She was too busy sighing dramatically at Hermione's last idea.

"Good idea. I'm sure he'll be right chuffed to get an old poster of his ex-girlfriend's favorite _all-womens_ Quidditch team. He can go ahead and pin it up next to the rest of his vast expanse of useless memorabilia."

"Calm down!" Hermione insisted, chuckling. "Unfortunately, I'm lost at this point. Snog him senseless?"

"That's what I was thinking, though would I seem arrogant?"

Hermione's eyes widened. Ginny seemed serious about the kissing idea. In fact, she _was_ serious. Snogging senseless – it didn't sound like a terrible idea. Hmmm …. Oh she was much, much too tired.

"You honestly want to … I mean, you were..." she struggled to regain the composure that came with safely talking about Ginny and Harry's relationship, and nothing to do with her own mixed emotions.

"Well yes," the redheaded sister of Ron (hem, _Ginny_, Hermione's thoughts corrected primly) smirked, "He'd certainly remember."

Hermione laughed at this, having to hand it to her friend. She might have been the younger of the two, but she sure seemed to have things more figured out than Hermione did. "I suppose, yes, he would, but are you sure...?"

"No. Not at all."

Huh … so maybe not nearly so figured out as she'd thought.

"Well if you're honestly trying to carry this out," Hermione shrugged, finally, "then I better be there to keep Ron away."

"Ooh, yes, good idea," Ginny nodded fervently, "That wart would love to make sure I never speak to Harry, or any boy for that matter, for at least another twenty years or so."

Hermione smiled a little too fondly, and blushed as Ginny shot her a knowing look.

"And who better to distract him than you?" She wiggled her eyes suggestively, and burst into giggles at Hermione's appalled expression.

"Oh honestly, you're just like him," Hermione sighed, fully awake now. She was feigning indifference, but all of that talk about distractions was sending her mind back to sweet moments behind piles of presents, a rough hand brushing her cheek, and blue, blue eyes. "I'm leaving now." She grabbed the wrapped sneakoscope from the dresser and made her way to the kitchen.

Once breakfast was finished and Ron, Harry and Hermione were heading to the first floor landing – nearer and nearer to Ginny's room – Hermione wracked her brains for something to turn Ron's attention away from his best friend and little sister, and what the latter was about to do.

"I'll pack these for you," she finally said to Harry, thinking of a way to both keep Ron occupied and to free Harry's arms. "I'm nearly done, I'm just waiting for the rest of your underpants to come out of the wash, Ron."

Reacting just as she'd hoped, Ron's eyes widened and by his splutter she knew that she had his full attention. But then –

"Harry, will you come in here for a moment?"

As Ron skidded to a stop, Hermione knew very well that no distraction short of something exploding or dying would distract him. Instead, she balanced Harry's gifts in one arm and grabbed one of Ron's with her free hand.

"Wait!" he demanded as she towed him along. He attempted to see over his shoulder, but the door was already closing behind Harry and Ginny. When it looked as though he was going to insist on turning and forcing it open, Hermione pulled harder.

"Let them be," she insisted, dragging him up the stairs and into his room. She deposited Harry's birthday items on the floor, then rounded on Ron, who was still attempting to escape.

"Ronald Weasley," she snapped. Somewhat startled, he finally turned his attention back to her.

"What?"

"It is Harry's birthday today, and so help me, you will let him enjoy it! Ginny is old enough to make her own decisions now. She's a lot smarter than you give her credit for. It's not as though she hasn't thought this through."

"She never does when it comes to him!" he countered heatedly. "All she ever did last year was snog Dean, then lose him as soon as Harry's decided that it's convenient for him to fancy her after all – after all of those years, and her talking about him non-stop, and him never giving her the time of day! She let him yank her along just so that he could chuck her a month later!"

"He did not _chuck_ her Ron, and you know it."

"He ENDED it!" he roared, "Fooling around with he now is only making it worse."

In a way, Ron was being irrational, and overprotective. Still, Hermione couldn't help but, as she stared at him standing there, furious, get a pang of affection for this boy. His defense on behalf of his baby sister, who happened to be Hermione's best friend aside from he and Harry, was unbelievably sweet.

"Please Ron," she finally sighed, "Let them have another minute to sort things out."

"You mean to get dressed!"

Hermione gaped for a moment at his startling implication, and then couldn't help but burst out laughing. Ill placed as her mirth was, the idea of Ginny and Harry actually …. in the middle of a large, packed house full of Weasleys, no less. However, when Ron's eyes narrowed, and even more color flooded his face, she sobered immediately.

"No – Ron, honestly, that's not even –"

"That's it!" he snarled, and threw upon the door, bounding down the stair cases to Ginny's door in record time. Hermione was moments too far behind him. He was already flinging it open by the time she reached the chaos.

"Ron!" she chastised, trying to catch her breath. Nervously, she looked between Harry and Ginny, who had obviously just broken apart, and back to a fuming Ron. _Everyone's getting interrupted today,_ she thought wryly, and with a sigh, followed the two boys out the door.


	11. Much too Close

**Finally back, and sorry that the chapters have been so short. It makes it so that I can post more often. Hopefully they will be longer, and hope you enjoy. Please review with your thoughts, comments, or ideas. Not sure how I feel about this, so if you would please review and tell me what you think, I would be ever so much obliged. Thanks so much :)**

Ron eyed the strange device that Dumbledore had given him, experimentally shaking it, inspecting it from every angle.

"I just don't understand," Hermione's voice said, closer than he was expecting. He glanced at her, surprised to find that she was leaning in to look at the deluminator over his shoulder. He could feel her breath, and the fruit smell was overtaking his senses again, and he was torn between wanting her as far away as possible, or much, much closer.

"Reckon he was probably just barkin', like usual," he shrugged, and his voice cracked. He cleared his throat nervously, but she didn't seem to notice.

"Sometimes I wonder if he might have been," she chuckled. She seemed perfectly calm with one hand on his shoulder, the other reaching around him to probe the deluminator. She seemed entirely unaffected when their fingers grazed, and her face was only inches from his.

"Mind if I give that another look?" Charlie suddenly asked from across the table. Grateful for the distraction, Ron nodded and handed it over. Hermione leaned back against her own chair again, and his heart could start functioning normally again.

Blimey, she was beautiful. Ever since fourth year or so, he had known that, but there was no denying that even since then, she'd grown up. And now he couldn't bloody control himself if her shoulder, or finger, or hair, so much as touched him.

"Barking," he repeated under his breath, but this time he wasn't thinking of his confusing ex-headmaster.

"They had no right," Hermione was now saying vehemently to Charlie, "All of it should have been ours weeks ago – and the sword!" She was still holding her fork as she motioned wildly with her hands. Ron watched and smiled fondly when the potatoes on it plopped back onto the plate without her noticing.

She was brilliant too, he knew that well enough. She was so much better than he was, but could he be imagining the subtle change between them? He wasn't sure what it was – he knew it confused him. He knew that he enjoyed it. He knew that it made him hopeful and nervous – he knew that she had treated him sweeter ever since it was over between he and Lavender – and she had been so angry about all of that. It had to mean something.

It wasn't as though he'd never touched Hermione before this summer. She'd hugged him a handful of times before then, and grabbed his hand as well. But lately – he couldn't put his finger on it, but their contact was different now. Vastly different.

The first time he'd put his arm around her shoulders had been natural – Dumbledore was dead. That was tragedy enough to evaporate any reserve he might have had. It was normal for friends to comfort each other during times like that.

Since then, he'd made it a habit every time he saw tears in her eyes. Just once, though, he wished that he could muster the courage to do so without her crying as a precursor. He hated to see her hurting, and wished that something so pleasant didn't have to be bittersweet.

Then of course, there were all the other times. Lately, when she hugged him, she held on tighter and longer than before. She squeezed herself so close to him that sometimes he wondered if it might be all she ever wanted to do, too. Of course, that was probably crazy. But, for instance, that afternoon when that wanker Scrimgeour had made her cry, and he'd thrown his arm around her as usual, she had leaned immediately into his arm. And when her hand had begun to nudge behind his back and around his waist, he'd pulled her closer.

Only a moment later, that bloody minister had worked her up all over again, so that she leaned forward and away from him. Hermione arguing and angry was easily one of the most attractive things he'd seen, but he couldn't deny that his side had gotten cold the moment she'd shifted away.

Now here they were, sitting at the dinner table, and she was so close again. Her hand that was closest to him was laying so invitingly in her lap. He wanted to move his hand to cover it, to pick it up, to hold. It was so small and white. Whereas his were calloused and freckly, hers looked soft. He wanted to see if they were as smooth as they looked.

Thinking about it made his heart beat faster, and his palms get all sweaty. He thought of the other day behind the presents. He thought of her eyes and how sweet her hair had smelled. He thought of her lips, and noticed that she was licking them.

Anxiously, he rubbed his hands on his jeans. If it weren't for his little sister, he would have kissed her then.

Her hand began to rub her leg, playing with the seam on her shorts distractedly. He stared at it, mesmerized, wishing that he had the nerve. His fingers twitched, and he clasped his hands together, and began to wring them. His knuckles were turning white.

Suddenly, her hand shifted, and it was moving towards him, and everything was holding its breath for a small moment, and his eyes followed it until it landed softly on his elbow. The contact returned him to reality, and he jumped a little, and finally shifted his gaze to her concerned face.

"Ron, what's wrong?" she murmured, so low that only he could hear. Her soft hand squeezed a little.

Her eyes were warm and close and worried about him.

"Nothing, just thinking," he finally smiled, and she returned it. The hand dropped from his arm to fall onto the table, and he knew that he'd lost his chance. Not that he would have been able get the nerve to, anyway.

Even just his elbow missed her touch.

"The deluminator?" she guessed, nodding her head vaguely in Charlie's direction who was still tinkering with the strange device. He shook his head yes, as if he could possibly be concerned with Dumbledore's will while she was so close. The wizened old wizard's wonky behavior had long since ceased to amaze him, even if it was slightly puzzling to receive something from his strange headmaster.

"Well I'm not lost at all about the children's book he gave me," she told him, grinning, "Who doesn't need a little extra runes practice?"

"Only you," he scoffed, rolling his eyes, but he was smiling as well.

"What is that supposed to mean?" she demanded, teasingly affronted.

"That you're completely insane," he replied, without reserve. She scowled at him for a moment, and then laughed. Ron sighed, relieved that the tension between them had evaporated.

Then, in the next moment, she had raised her spoon threateningly, loaded with vegetables. "Insane, am I?" she smirked, ready to flick it at him.

"Mad," he nodded, and raised his own fork full of potatoes.

It was then that his mum turned towards them, and they both hurriedly swallowed their defensive mouthfuls. Hermione looked fit to burst, and as soon as she had gulped it down, she started laughing, and so did he. It wasn't so funny, but it seemed like it. Harry and Ginny glanced at them, wanting in on the secret, but it wasn't much of one to tell.

"Truce," Hermione smiled when they'd regained their composures, and held her hand out. Ron stopped laughing immediately, as, finally, he covered her hand with his, and shook. And when he squeezed hers, and her smile grew, he hoped that soon he'd have a better excuse for grabbing her hand.


	12. Butterflies

**Hello again, I am so excited, because I finally get to write the chapters that took place on August 1****st****, 1997, which would have been my second birthday … and easily my best :) Please, please, please review! Thank you all so much – your feedback in any form has meant the world.**

Hermione held the little bottle of Lucille's frizz control at arm's length, eying it speculatively. It couldn't have been by chance that she only now found it again, even if she had been mocked in doing so by the very person she cared to impress with it. Of course, she was also of age, so she could now use charms on her hair as well as potions. If Ginny could only teach her some spells …

"Useless," she finally sighed, and then jumped a little as the door to Ginny's room swung suddenly open.

"Mind if we join you?" the the latter asked, followed by Gabrielle Delacour. Hermione half smiled, half grimaced at the dazzling little girl.

"Oh, not at all," she replied to Ginny. "I was just trying to decide how to fix my hair."

"I could," Gabrielle suddenly chimed in, speaking in broken, heavily accented English. Hermione surveyed the younger girl warily, taking in her intricate up-do.

"Did you do that?" she asked timidly, already feeling inferior.

"Oh no!" Gabrielle chuckled, her laughter tinkling almost identically to her older sister's. "Maman deed zees one, but I deed Ginevra's."

Somewhat surprised, Hermione looked towards Ginny, whose hair was swept back in a complicated knot of loose, springy curls. "Brilliant, isn't she?" Ginny grinned, noticing Hermione's impressed appraisal.

She nodded, somewhat flustered. "I … well yes, Gabrielle, if you don't mind, that would be lovely."

"Oh zat ees perfect!" the eleven-year-old clapped and pulled Hermione over to a chair in the corner of Ginny's room. "'Ow would you like eet?"

"Oh … well I do have this –" Hermione offered the bottle timidly.

"Yes, zat will be good. Down, or would you like eet up?"

Hermione stared at her bushy mane in the mirror, and realized how badly she wanted to feel it soft and on her shoulders. "Erm … down, please," she asked hesitantly, not knowing if her opinion was actually valid.

Gabrielle nodded, startlingly business-like for such a small child. She snatched up Hermione's hair "paste" (Hermione thought of Ron with a fond smirk) and began raking it through her ringlets. As had happened on the one other occasion she had used it, her hair lost all of its frizz, and took on a somewhat luminescent quality.

Seeing such a dramatic effect, Hermione smiled and thanked the heavens that she was part of a magical world.

Closing her eyes, she let herself relax into the feeling of someone else playing with her hair. It didn't happen often, since she knew that her hair wasn't exactly ideal for friend to friend braiding. Not that she would know anything about that – the only girlfriend she had was Ginny. Occasionally her mum would pull her fingers through Hermione's curls, but only rarely … and thinking about that now only made her sad.

However, Gabrielle's slender fingers were masterful, never pulling or tugging too hard.

"You are lucky – eet ees harder to 'urt 'eads weesout many 'air peens. Poor Ginevra 'ad plenty of zose," she was telling Hermione cheerfully.

Ginny grunted in agreement, then added, "But yours still looks bloody brilliant, Hermione."

The latter resisted the urge to look at her hair, but kept her eyes squeezed shut, letting herself forget the world for a few moments more, enjoying the luxury of letting someone else deal with her hair, for once. As usual, the closing of her eyelids seemed to ignite her random thought processes, and as her mind jumped from Gabrielle playing with her hair, to how much she wished that more people could do her hair for her, to thinking about the one person she wished would run his fingers through her hair … The mental image was terribly inviting, and she let herself get lost in it, in him, in her memories, and her countless wishes.

She mentally shook herself. Ron would _never_, in his sane lifetime, have any desire to come anywhere close to her hair. Then, of course, there was that moment sorting presents, when his hand had come so dangerously, beautifully behind her ear, onto her cheek –

"Eet ees finished!" Gabrielle exclaimed, several long moments later. "Voila!"

Hermione jumped, then slowly opened her eyes. Immediately, they widened.

"Oh … Gabrielle, _thank you_," she murmured, turning to the side and attempting to see the back of it. Her hands gently brushed, almost unconsciously, against the silky locks. Her ringlets had been transformed into long, bouncy curls, spilling gracefully down her shoulders and back. It surprised her how far down her hair fell once it wasn't coiled so tightly. From what she could see looking over her shoulder, it was pinned up in the back with some glittery jewel-type things holding together a mass of looped curls, with some of them dangling artfully.

"Thank you," she repeated, unable to move her eyes for more than a moment from the mirror. She couldn't think of a time she had felt like this looking at an image of her own self.

"Make-up!" Ginny finally exclaimed, and rushed around to grab her small purse.

Glancing down at the dress she was wearing, Hermione chewed on her lip anxiously. It would hardly be considered scandalous by normal company, but even so, she was not used to exposing nearly so much skin. She did love the shade of delicate purple, but the neckline was a bit too plunging for her own comfort. Fleur even had to cast a quick sticking charm to keep it up, and now Hermione was, perhaps unreasonably, mortified and paranoid.

The straps reached up and around to tie in a bow behind her neck, and there was a ribbon at her waistline. Her favorite part, however, was the skirt. It flowed out in layers of tulle, brushing to just beneath her knees. It wasn't too full of a skirt, but flared out enough that when she spun, she felt like a princess.

Hermione would have been happy with every aspect of her outfit had Fleur not insisted on her wearing the heels that matched it. When Fleur had seen the dress, she'd pulled out the shoes that just happened to match, insisting that Hermione let her perform a shrinking spell so they would fit. Out of tact, she had agreed, but Hermione _hated_ heels, especially those that were five inches tall.

Grabbing her beaded handbag, light purple to match the outfit, she gingerly slid it onto her arm, careful not to jostle any of the meticulously organizing piles inside. Glancing herself over one last time, she slipped out the door, wobbling only slightly, she proudly noted.

However, just as she'd passed the doorway, she noticed an ancient looking old witch blocking the way, loudly declaring to Molly the benefits of a goblin-made tiara. Judging by what she had heard from Ron, she immediately judged this woman to be Ron's infamous Great Auntie Muriel.

Lovely.

Clearing her throat nervously, she tensed when the hawk-like woman turned her beady stare around to peer at her. "Oh dear," she croaked, 'is this the muggle-born that Ronald speaks of so often?'"

Hermione flushed with pleasure at hearing this, and then –

"You hunch terribly. And your ankles are far too skinny."

"Oh ..." Hermione was at a loss for what to say, until Molly mercifully cut in.

"Yes Muriel, thank you for the tiara, it will be stunning," turning the witch's attention away.

As soon as the two had gone, Hermione hurried to the loo to inspect her appearance one last time. She made sure to straighten her shoulders, and pointedly averted her eyes from her ankles, the one body part that she had never thought to feel self-conscious about. She wondered if she should start.

Finally making her way out to the crowded marquee, she noticed that, unfortunately, Ron's usually conspicuous hair, the easiest way to locate him, would not stick out at all among the gathering of Weasley cousins. Naturally her next option was the black of Harry's, but his had been turned the same color for the occasion.

However, she soon spotted them near the entrance, and hurried her pace before they disappeared. Catching Ron's eyes, she was pleased to notice them widening. She even saw then flickering quickly down, and back up, making her neck feel hot, and her ankles feel especially small.

"Wow," he told her, and she supposed that she was imagining the breathless quality to his voice. "You look great."

Embarrassed at how much she enjoyed the obvious approval, perhaps even attraction, she only smiled and deftly repeated his own line from before- "Always the tone of surprise."

Surreptitiously giving him a once over as well, she couldn't deny that he looked wonderful as well. Sometimes she couldn't believe how handsome he was with his hair combed and done, standing in his new, spiffy dress robes.

Their glances met, and there was amusement there on both parts, but she could see something else underneath it as well – it was deeper, and fonder. Flustered, she quickly added, "Your Great-Aunt Muriel doesn't agree..." and recounted the basics of her run in with the old woman. She edited it somewhat, leaving out the part about how often Ron supposedly spoke about her. As that set the conversation off (it was obviously a favorite Weasley pass-time to bash on their tactless relative), she was relieved that it had been enough to distract from the reaction Ron had had to her.

"Never married for some reason," Ron snorted a moment later, speaking now of his Uncle Billius, another one of their eccentric family.

"You amaze me," Hermione rolled her eyes, but had burst into laughter right along with them. She looked up to exchange an amused glance with Fred, and would have continued chuckling if it weren't for the sudden arrival of an entirely unexpected guest.

"You look vunderful."

"Viktor!" she exclaimed, and the sudden jerk of her arms made her bag fall onto the ground. Embarrassed, she bent down to pick it up. The dark, brooding Quidditch star she had met so many years before was the last person she thought she would see here. Of course, she wasn't necessarily disappointed. The older and widely known man's interest was flattering, to say the least.

"I didn't know you were – " she was stammering, attempting to form coherent thoughts. Her eyes kept flitting between the intense gaze of Viktor Krum and the livid scowl plastered all over Ron's face, neither of which did anything for her nerves.

"Goodness it's lovely to see …." Ron glared at her as she began saying this, so she finally settled on, "How are you?"

"I am fine," he replied, stiffly passing his invitation to Ron.

"How come you're here?"

Hermione glanced, alarmed, at the obviously irate Ron, who was making no effort to hide his disdain for the wedding guest.

"Fleur invited me."

Hermione watched them as they engaged in a fleeting, manly stare-down that she felt should be accompanied by dramatic music. Fighting internally with her emotions, she battled between anxiety from the tension of the moment, and utmost affection for the boy that was, for no other apparent reason, violently annoyed by the world-famous and previously passionately revered Quidditch player that had taken her to a dance. The fact that since then, Ron had been so deeply offended by the perfectly honorable man standing before her was giving her, for some bizarre reason, butterflies.

"Let me show you where you can sit," the ginger Harry finally chimed in, and Krum, after hesitating for a split second, followed him down the aisle.

"What a pompous – " Ron began heatedly, but Hermione rolled her eyes and countered immediately,

"Come off it, Ron. What's Viktor ever done to you, honestly?"

"What's Viktor done to him, she asks!" Fred interjected, looking grievously appalled.

"As though thwarting his first love's attempt means nothing!" George added, nodding soberly, "Might as well cut off the poor bloke's ear!"

Ron's face and ears flooded with color, and Hermione supposed that hers fared the same. "Shut it," he grunted, and Hermione blushed deeper. Keeping up with the quickened pace Ron was setting, she followed him embarrassedly down the aisle.

Once they'd taken their seats, they had only to wait a few minutes before Mrs. and Mrs. Weasley came outside and down the aisle. Breathlessly, Hermione watched Bill, Charlie, and Ginny and Gabrielle enter the procession. They both looked radiant, and behind them, finally, the flawless bride. She seemed to be emitting a certain glow, and Hermione couldn't believe how dazzling she was.

"Ooh," she sighed, watching as Fleur reached her groom. He stared at her with adoring eyes, and somehow the scars on his face close to disappeared with the beaming look he was giving his lovely bride.

As the couple exchanged vows, Hermione thought of other weddings. She thought of her parents, and how theirs must have been; her parents who still sometimes embarrassed her with how deeply they adored each other, who would have loved to have seen her today … she thought of the Weasleys, and herself – wondering who she might end up with.

Glancing quickly to Ron before she could even think to stop herself, she was surprised to see his intense gaze already turned to hers. Normally, they both would have flushed and looked away immediately, but something about the music, the atmosphere stopped her. Instead, she smiled warmly at him, and he did the same.

"Do you, William Arthur, take Fleur Isabelle to be your lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold..."

Bill and Fleur's fingers were entwined, and she could see Bill's face inching closer, millimeter by millimeter, to his almost-wife. Hermione's eyes filled with tears to think that such beautiful moments could still exist the way the world was today. She started a bit when Ron's hand suddenly covered hers, and squeezed. Turning to beam at him, she could see so many emotions in his eyes, in his wide smile, but had no idea how to interpret any of them. They both bashfully looked away after only a moment, and Ron squeezed once more, then withdrew his hand.

She turned her head then to grin at Harry. At that moment, she couldn't believe how filled to the brim she was with pure affection for the people around her. She had her boys on either side, one who gave her butterflies, a second family in the Weasleys, Hagrid, and all of the others. She wouldn't mind sitting right here forever, though she was also filled with a sudden, unexplainable hope for the future.

"I declare you bonded for life."

To be with someone forever – the concept was marvelously sweet, even if the novelty wore off eventually. There was nothing like a wedding to cast a golden glow on an otherwise terrifying time. Hermione sighed, content, her hand still tingling from where Ron's had touched it.

**A/N: Ha, for all of you who wanted a longer chapter, I present you with this one. I wanted to express how lovely and emotional the day was for her, which might have been bordering on WAY too corny, but I sure do love that wedding. Also, if the description of her clothing was too much, then I apologize :)**


	13. Record for blushing

**Hey all, it's surely good to be writing to you again so soon. Here's Bill and Fleur wedding part 2 … HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY ALL! I would like to tell my dear boyfriend Mr. Knightley how much I love him, and to my lovely reviewers, thank you! Keep up the good responses, and thankee kindly.**

There was a gleaming dance floor, a romantic environment, Hermione was stunning, and so help him, Ron was not going to let that ruddy _wanker_ Viktor Krum muck it up for him. He, Harry and Hermione made their way across the golden floor to the far side of the marquee. Ron scanned the crows the entire way for an empty table, and finally saw one with a lone Luna Lovegood.

"All right if we join you?" he asked, after making a bee-line for her. The trio was sitting down before she could even reply.

"Oh yes," she said enthusiastically, "Daddy's just gone to give Bill and Fleur our present."

"What is it, a lifetime supply of gurdyroots?" Ron snorted, before he thought to stop himself. Next to him, Harry suddenly grunted, and his eyes began to water. Judging by Hermione's chastising, and then suddenly apologetic glance, he guessed that she'd tried to kick him under the table, and had caught Harry instead.

"Oh no," Luna was replying, oblivious to the facetious nature of his question. "A lifetime supply would spoil after a little while, and I highly doubt they'll have any terrible plimpy problems." Her laugh tinkled as though she had made a hilarious joke.

Ron smiled fondly at her, forgetting to ask what she got them instead, in lieu of her endearing quirkiness.

"I like this song," she added, and gracefully swayed her solitary way to the dance floor.

"She's great, isn't she? Always good value." He chuckled under his breath, until he caught sight of the wedding guest approaching them. He scowled, hoping Krum would get the message, but the Bulgarian seeker came forward anyway.

"Who is that man in the yellow?" he asked with that repulsive accent, gesturing in the direction of Luna's father.

Ron glared at him, daring him to make a comment on the any of the family's various oddities. "That's Xenophilius Lovegood," he snapped, "He's the father of a friend of ours."

Krum's frown deepened. Ron noticed this smugly as, fed up with the older man, he stood rapidly and extended a hand brusquely to Hermione. "Come and dance," he told her. Knowing she had every right to refuse such a demand, he was relieved when, as soon as she'd gotten over the initial surprise, she took his hand willingly.

He pulled her through the throng of people silently, wishing that it would have been acceptable to stroke her hand, or to lace his fingers in hers. When they reached the edge of the dance floor, he couldn't resist commenting, "So Vicky's looking good."

Hermione glared at him even as he was pulling her into a waltz position. She gripped his hand and shoulder.

"Honestly Ron, must you insist on using ridiculous pet names of your _own_ invention?"

"Oh come off it, you know you've wanted to call him that ever since I first said it. You probably do in all of those letters you write."

He stepped forward, and she followed, easily doing the box step with him.

"Yes," she finally admitted, "about as much as I've wanted to have tea with the giant squid."

"Both are charmers," Ron nodded soberly, and spun her around twice. By the time he had pulled her back, she was alternating between giggling and rolling her eyes.

"You never told me you could dance," she accused, changing the subject. He spun her into the cuddle that he had honestly only learned days ago, with the help of Ginny and his mother, and smirked.

"You never asked." His tone was Percy-like as he said the clichéd line, but laced heavily with sarcasm. He twirled her back out, and his hand landed higher up on her back this time as she spun in. The back of her dress was cut low enough that his palm was flat on her back, skin to skin. She was warm and soft, and his fingers' sensory receptors were doing an effective job of setting his hand on fire.

"Do you only know the waltz, or are you going to end up surprising me with further?" Hermione asked, as though unimpressed. She was being coy, and as her fingers shifted on his bicep, and his hand could so acutely feel her shoulder blade underneath it, his train of thought faltered.

"Erm … I – no, I know others." He couldn't believe how badly he was tripping over his words. Hermione could obviously tell how nervous she'd made him, and glanced down, blushing. Ron's ears were reddening, probably noticeably.

"That's good then," she smiled again, and he wanted that exact expression to stay put for as long as logically possible. His stomach was turning strangely and repeatedly, and he internally reprimanded himself for it.

"You aren't so bad at this yourself," he told her then, and congratulated his suavity. He glanced down at their feet for a moment, and noticed her shoes for the first time. "Merlin, and in those, it's a wonder you can walk!"

Hermione grimaced and stumbled a little as though she'd forgotten she was wearing them. "Oh, yes, they're fine, as long as nothing –"

The slower song they'd been circling to ended and a Weird Sisters rock number came blaring out.

"… too fast comes on," she finished, cringing. They glanced at each other and burst out laughing.

"You're right, there's no way you can do this," he scoffed, and she glared.

"Oh, let's go," she snapped, and he grinned, shrugging. They began, again, to dance, this time with complicated footwork, a tremendously excessive number of spins, and anything either party could think of to usurp the other.

"Merlin I must be a mess!" Hermione cried a few moments later. True, if Gabrielle had seen what the older girl had done to her handiwork, she probably would have swooned, but Ron replied sincerely, "You look brilliant!" He tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear. "Even better than before," he added, and caught her pleased expression before another rambunctious couple danced right through them.

"You look especially dashing yourself!" Hermione was calling over the music now, and had gripped one of his hands to be certain they wouldn't be separated again. She roared with laughter as he struck a pose, winked, and doing an impressive imitation of their second year Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, chimed in, "Oh yes, magical me."

The confidence that her compliment, laughter at his joke, and dancing with her in general had given him was becoming intoxicating and overwhelming.

"That's vile," she cringed, but she was still laughing and bouncing to the music. She was breathing hard, one hand on her side, but her feet never stopped on the dance floor. Her cheeks were flushed pleasurably pink, her hair was coming undone, her smile was wide, and Ron could not believe how lovely she was.

"I'm not the one who kept that precious card," he returned, still having the presence of mind to retort.

"I was _twelve _you prat! And excuse _me_ Mr. 'Fleur Delacour is too perfect, I just completely lost my mind and asked her to the ball!' Ha!" she was indignant now, but her eyes shone with mirth. "I can't believe you said _I_ was fraternizing with the enemy.

Ron let go of one of her hands to wag his finger accusingly at her. "At least I saw sense early on enough not to keep gaping at her after that!"

"You mean after she rejected you then married your brother?"

Ron's mouth opened and closed like a fish. He had absolutely no idea how she managed to win every time. It was even more mysterious to him how on earth they were now arguing about his past attraction to his new sister-in-law while he was holding _Hermione Granger_ in his arms, for Merlin's sake. Fleur Delacour, physically attractive as she might have been, couldn't hold a candle to the gorgeous, wickedly smart, talented, and virtually unbeatable at an argument Hermione.

Finally, he said the most honest thing he could.

"Maybe, but I don't mind."

Hermione looked at him and didn't say anything, but she smiled and he thought she understood anyway. He realized that they weren't moving very fast anymore, and was shocked when she suddenly threw her arms around his waist and pressed her face into the front of his robes.

Instinctively, one of his arms tightened around her waist, and the other patted the top of her head awkwardly. Too quickly, Hermione leaned back again with a hurried, "Sorry about that." She looked flustered.

He chuckled and figured that between the two of them today, they had to hold some sort of blushing record. Putting his hands on her shoulders, he held her at arm's length. "Hermione, where did that come from?"

"I'm just so glad I have you and Harry," she told him, and for once he didn't feel jealous of his best mate. He knew what she meant, and agreed with her wholeheartedly.

"And without you, we'd probably both be dead by now," he told her, trying to lighten the mood. He was teasing, but at the same time, he knew it was true. She shot him an appreciative look , and then suddenly wobbled, and tripped forward a few inches. Ron grabbed her elbows and steadied her.

"You need to sit down?" he asked, gesturing to her feet worriedly. The shoes honestly did look rather terrifying.

"No, no, I'm fine," she insisted. "If we could just sway … maybe minimize the dancing competitions..." she wiggled her eyebrows facetiously.

"Maybe if you could take off those shoes instead," he suggested wryly.

"Then I wouldn't be able to see your face, let _alone_ dance with you," she retorted, pushing up on tip toes so that she could look at him eye to eye, intending to emphasize her point.

"Then you'd probably be better off," he grunted, and wasn't the least bit surprised when she bristled and pulled away.

"Ronald Weasley, you _know_ that is not true!" she glared angrily up at him, her expression daring contradiction with an expression terrifyingly reminiscent of his mum's. He wanted to push it further, but a look like that quelled his arguments immediately.

"Yes mother," he grumbled, and tugged her back into his arms. "Merlin woman, I reckon Scrimgeour may have been right about you."

She stared back at him warily, inquisitively, her scrunched up eyebrows prodding. "About?" she bit out tersely.

"You, being a lawyer."

To his surprise, Hermione flushed and looked down. "Would that really be so bad?" Her voice was small, and her eyes met his timidly, like a puppy seeking approval. His eyes widened, and he barked out a laugh.

"No, Hermione, you'd be bloody brilliant at it! Are you serious though – is that honestly what you want to be?"

Her eyes were shining now. "No need to swear," she began quietly, then, "I dunno … I mean, about the lawyer, thing, but I've been thinking about it a lot. Now … don't laugh, but I've been thinking that perhaps getting involved in magical law would be a good place to start, you know, for all of the work I've put into rights for house-elves."

Ron normally would have smirked at the very least if she'd said something like this, but the way she was chewing her lip, already fraught with anxiety about the simple idea of a possible career, determined to improve the conditions of an entire race – she was too compassionate for her own good – certainly too good for him. He had no choice but to take her seriously, so he nodded fervently. He loved hearing her lay out a future that seemed to have been created for just such a witch as Hermione.

"Goblins too," she was speaking rapidly, and in earnest. Her passion, as he knew it often did, was making up for the lack of confidence that he knew was there as well. "There are so many creatures out there who are misunderstood and treated poorly because of it every day, by wizards who have been raised to treat them as nothing better than scum!"

"Then go for it! It sounds great, Hermione," he told her enthusiastically, and she beamed at the praise. "Except one thing –"

She glanced up at him worriedly.

"Treated poorly by '_wizards_?'" he made air quotes. "Seems to me like witches are being given an unfair bias."

"Oh sod off," she smiled, and affectionately elbowed him in the ribs.

"No, Hermione, honestly, you'll be perfect," he returned to seriousness as he reiterated his previous statement. "And if you like, I'll wear as many buttons as you'd like, and continue my duties in S.P.E.W." He threw back his shoulders and attempted to look important. She only punched his shoulder.

"Well, oh mighty one, what is it that _you're _planning to do with yourself after … everything …?"

He had a sudden image flash into his head of an older Hermione sitting across from him at a table that looked like one he'd see in Diagon Alley for lunch. She was telling him animatedly about all of the gnomes – or maybe it was ghouls – that she had liberated. In his mental image, he was holding her hand – her left one – and on her second finger, she was wearing a ring.

"I don't really know what I want to do, except that my future …." _has to have you in it_, is what he wanted to say. He bit that back, however, and finished lamely, "cannot be spent in dress robes." He felt his ears heating.

Hermione was oblivious to the discomfiture she was causing him. She only laughed and moved her hand to touch the bow tie around his neck. "Velvet is so classy, though," she chuckled, and he could only gulp. Her thumb grazed his adam's apple, and his throat made some sort of strangled squeak that caused his face to turn redder than it had all day.

He cleared his throat and swallowed, and she embarrassedly shifted her fingers back to his arm. "I hate velvet," he said lamely.

"Well it suits you." She was no longer meeting his eyes. "You really do look very nice today."

"Erm … thanks, then." He cursed his awkwardness, and shifted his arm further around her waist to show her that her compliment really did mean a lot. He tucked her head under his chin, and rested it on the top of her shining hair.

Ron glanced around to see only Bill of his brothers still on the dance floor, eyes trained on his radiant bride. He also noticed Lee Jordan gallivanting with his younger sister only a few couples away from he and Hermione.

Ginny met his eyes over Lee's shoulder and grinned broadly at him. "_Nice_," she mouthed, before she was spun dramatically away again. The dancers surrounding him all looked as though they'd had some sort of love spell cast over them. So many partners were gazing deeply into each others' eyes, or tenderly embracing. As Ron took it all in, Hermione sighed into his chest, and he couldn't help but smile.


	14. Good Graces

**Hello there dear fanfiction readers/writers. Here's the next installment, and a quick disclaimer, since I haven't bothered to type one for quite sometime, I don't own ANY of this work. Personalities, plot lines, characters all belong to JK Rowling. Imagine that. Please review, and I hope you enjoy!**

Once Lee Jordan challenged she and Ron to a dance off, Hermione finally had to insist on sitting down. Her feet were screaming in agony, but it was still with reluctance that she left Ron to find butterbeers on his own. As she hobbled her way across the dance floor, she noticed Viktor storming away from Xenophilius Lovegood and frowned. However, she was even more nervous to see Harry, or Barny, sitting at a table with both a tiny, elderly wizard and none other than Ron's charming Auntie Muriel.

"Old bat," she sighed, and hesitantly drew up a chair as far away from the witch as possible.

"I simply cannot dance anymore," she told Harry breathlessly, for the sake of conversation. She pulled off her shoes with painful relief, and continued, "Ron's gone looking to find more butterbeers. It's a bit odd – I've just seen Viktor storming away from Luna's father – it looked like they'd been arguing…" she trailed off when she noticed Harry's agitated expression for the first time. It was eerily familiar, even if he did currently have the face of a freckly ginger.

"Harry, are you okay?" she eyed him carefully, then glanced up as a large, silvery creature – lynx – fell into the midst of the crowd of dancers. Hermione's eyes widened and the creature's mouth opened.

_"The ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming."_

Kingsley's voice was one that she recognized immediately, and already her thought process began working too quickly, images and thoughts fighting their way for priority. As was her natural reaction to anxiety, her wand was already drawn. Moving past the chaos in her head, Hermione realized that the crowd around her had fallen silent.

Then, somebody screamed.

With a jolt she noticed the broken protective enchantments, and the wizards on all sides casting spells. Reality was breaking in waves on her consciousness – death eaters must be moments from arrival. Her heart constricted, and the only coherent thought she could form ripped its way from her throat with a vengeance.

"RON!" her voice hardly pierced the surrounding cacophony. "Ron, where are you?" She shoved her feet back into her heels, but this time ignored the burn. Harry was moving fast in front of her, and she had to keep up.

Not processing what anyone was yelling around her, she scanned the crowds, seeing familiar faces on all sides. None of them were the ones that she was looking for. "Ron! Ron!" she was crying, and gripped the hand of Harry's that had found its way into hers. He was dragging her along, spells were flying, and people – so many people.

A head suddenly appeared above the others.

Exhaling in a sort of triumphant shout of relief, she wildly extended an arm, which he groped for. Once she felt the grip of his fingers, she spun on the spot, picturing the first place that came to her mind, holding to it determinedly. It was the only real thing – that and the hands of Harry and Ron, which didn't disappear as they were sucked into the uncomfortable sensation of apparation.

When her eyes finally opened, it was to nearly the same mental picture that she had remembered. It was a wide street, and crowds of people were pushing their way down it.

When she felt a burning in her lungs, she remembered with a pang to let out the breath she had not realized she had been holding. Her feet were numb, and cold. She wondered for an instant if they were bleeding, and pictured severing them at the ankle. Instead, she bit her lip, got a firmer grip on the wrists on either side of her, and began to walk.

"Where are we?"

Hermione glanced to the side at Ron's question. "Tottenham Court Road. Walk. Just walk."

She didn't have the air to say anything else. Her words had come in short pants, but she continued, "We need to find somewhere for you to change."

The boys didn't argue anymore, unsurprisingly. Sirens in the distance were blaring, and onlookers ogled them with bizarre expressions. Hermione's lungs were bursting, her feet were bursting, her head was bursting.

_Walk. Just keep walking._

* * *

><p>The moment Hermione slid onto the bench at the shabby cafe, her shoes were off, and her attention was towards the door that was behind her back, something that she was painfully uncomfortable with.<p>

"Let's get going, then, I don't want to drink that muck. Hermione, have you got muggle money to pay for that?" Ron needlessly tapped her hand gently to gain her attention.

"Yes, I took out all my Building Society Savings before I came to the Burrow," she told him automatically, and resisted the urge to smirk at his blank look. She retrieved her bag from next to her. "I bet all the change is at the bottom."

Groping blindly at the inside of the enlarged purse, she shook it experimentally.

"Hmm," she murmured, and then gasped as Ron was suddenly flying forward at her, looking terrified. He smashed her onto the bench, crushing her beneath him, flattening her horizontally beneath him on the bench.

"Ron!" she yelped, but her muffled cry of alarm was drowned out by the crashing that a sudden jet of light made colliding against the wall above her.

"_Stupefy!_" she heard Harry shouting, and she immediately began fumbling for her wand. She could hardly breathe though, let alone access her crowded handbag, as Ron's chest was pressing heavily down on her own, and his hands were gripping her arms tightly.

When she finally had a firm hold, and was pulling her wand from the crack in the bench that it had fallen into, Ron was suddenly covered in thick, scratchy ropes. Their eyes met – he looked apologetic, but he needn't have. She had a feeling that had he not acted when he did, a curse would have caught her unawares the next moment.

She couldn't move much beneath him, but managed finally to shift her face to have a view of the legs of the two burly (what she guessed to be) death eaters. Watching helplessly, she whimpered when the waitress thumped to the ground behind them.

Her arm was finally free from beneath Ron's weight, and using all of the volume she could muster, she shrieked, "_Expulso!_" as shards of table flew everywhere. Instinctively, she recoiled, and buried her face in Ron's shoulder, holding him tightly against her as though her grip could protect him from the blast.

Eyes squeezed shut, she could only imagine what had happened to Harry when she heard the sickening thud of a body hitting the wall.

With new resolve and a gasp of effort, she squirmed free from Ron, and smacked onto the ground, jamming her finger into the leg of the table beside her. Ignoring the pain, she screamed, "_Petrificus Totalus_!" and watched with satisfaction as the victim of her spell crashed bodily to the tiled floor.

Her wrists and thighs were seizing up with the effort of propping herself up in the uncomfortable position. Seeing that the danger had ceased, she squeezed Ron's arm quickly to make sure he knew she hadn't forgotten him, and quaked her way out from under the table on all fours. Trembling, she used the table to push herself to a standing position, immediately focusing her attention on Ron – the boy who, in her hysterical state, looked like the most gallant of heroes.

"_D-diffindo_," she stammered, pointing her want at the ropes containing him. She jumped as he jerked and then howled, and covered her mouth when she saw the blood on his knee. "Oh I'm so sorry, Ron," she cried, and to her embarrassment she realized that two tears squeezed from her eyes. "My hand's shaking," she feebly tried to explain.

With determined precision, she tried again. "_Diffindo_." The ropes recoiled, but with a pang she noticed they had left angry red marks. Ron stood heavily to his feet, rubbing them, and Hermione moved over to support him, slipping her arm around his back timidly. His arm fell easily over her shoulders, and he leaned his weight further into her.

They moved to stand behind Harry, who was saying something about Dumbledore's death.

"That's Dolohov, I recognize him from the old wanted posters. I think the big one's Thorfinn Rowle," Ron was now saying, but Hermione's mind was going fuzzy with fear.

"Never mind what they're called! How did they find us? What are we going to do?"

Moving into their natural roles again, Harry jumped into action. "Lock the door. And Ron, turn out the lights."

As soon as they were enveloped by darkness, Hermione became acutely aware of the fact that she and Ron were still leaning into each other. His hand was squeezing her arm now, but he was whispering to Harry now. She tuned back in to hear the remainder of his words.

"…kill them? They'd kill us. They had a good go just now."

The thought of raising her wand with the purpose of permanently destroying human life made Hermione's chest tighten. She stepped back, pressing herself closer into the crook of Ron's arm, the same Ron who had suggested the very idea that was now making her ill.

"We just need to wipe their memories. It's better like that; it'll throw them off the sent. If we kill them, it'd be obvious we were here."

Hermione was nodding before Harry had even finished his thoughts. Trust him to speak out against any sort of drastic violence – on that, she could relate to him wholeheartedly. Manipulating wands, memories or furniture was all fine, manipulating human life, on the other hand, was something that she was not ready for.

"You're the boss," Ron replied, and Hermione was glad at his tone of relief. "But I've never done a memory charm."

Hermione glanced at him. "Nor have I, but I know the theory." She needn't have said it – it had already been decided silently that she would be the one to perform the spells. She pointed her want at the smaller of the two death eaters. "_Obliviate._" His eyes lost focus, and she knew that he no longer had any idea of who he was. She hoped fervently that whatever new identity he came up with would be more pleasant than the last.

"Brilliant," Harry was congratulating her, and clapping her shoulder. "Take care of the other one and the waitress while Ron and I clear up."

Hermione scooted out from Ron's grasp and walked with trepidation towards the crumpled muggle woman. With a grimace, she took in the awkwardly bent elbow and pile of repeatedly dyed hair. Falling to her knees, she gingerly shifted the woman's face so that she could look at it clearly. The waitress's jaw had lolled open, and Hermione could see the electric green wad of gum nearly falling out in her pooling saliva.

Something about the repulsive image gave Hermione a strange desire to laugh, though she felt disgusted with herself for even thinking it.

"_Obliviate_," she finally bit out, and watched the subtle change that came over Luann's (Hermione only now noticed the woman's name tag) features.

As she was steeling to move to the remaining death eater, she noticed a passing boy just outside the door, gaping at the scene within. Hermione swore quickly under her breath, but luckily his mum pulled him distractedly away from the dark café. Still, now wary of passersby, she altered her course of action to first shifting Luann away from the prying eyes of the muggle street.

"It's no wonder I can't get it out, Hermione, you packed my old jeans, they're tight."

Hermione glanced up when she heard Ron saying her name, and narrowed her eyes at the complaint. "Oh I'm so sorry," she snapped shortly, rapidly losing her cool. After days of preparing more thoroughly than either of them had bothered to, hours of dealing with death traps of shoes, a stubbed finger, random people possibly looking in on them, wiping away memories of three people who were too cold and too still, worrying about what in Merlin's name they would do now, and now listening to the complaints of the one boy who had made the day bearable, even somewhat pleasant, the fit of Ron's trousers was the least of her concerns.

"You might try storing it up your arse from now on," she muttered, grasped Luann by the armpits, and with a giant heave, towed her away from the windows and door.

Returning to the other death eater, Rowle, according to Ron, she saw Harry repairing the blasted table shards.

"_Obliviate_," she said, ignoring the infuriating red-headed boy now standing by her side. Once Rowle's expression had taken on the familiar dream-like quality, she abruptly made her way over to the slumped body, but not before Ron began cheerfully,

"You know Hermione, I reckon we'd be two sorry blokes without you."

His eyes were sparkling knowingly, and she recognized immediately his attempts to make amends. At least he wasn't completely daft.

"Perhaps your clothes would fit then," she replied stiffly.

"Or we'd end up in the buck, since neither of us would have the presence of mind to bring clothes along."

Hermione's cheeks flushed at his reference to nudity, and she turned her head a little so that he couldn't see her smile.

"That would be a sight to see." She let some warmth seep into her tone, but followed hurriedly with, "Well lend a hand then, I can't support all this weight by myself."

Ron nodded, and through the semi-darkness she could tell that he was profoundly relieved. He had no doubt that he was already back in her good graces. Rather than "lending a hand," he walked over to the death eater and foisted him onto his own shoulder, carrying the weight by himself. Grunting quickly, he staggered to a standing position, then glanced at Hermione again.

"I know that we can be right prats sometimes," he told her quietly, "Just don't scarper off on us, all right?"

Without waiting for her reply, he shuffled away, lopsided with his burden. Harry moved over immediately to help support the dead weight, and looking between the two of them, Hermione murmured with a fond grin, "No chance of that."

Then she turned back around to continue cleaning the destroyed café.


	15. Mostly all Wrong

**AN: Ok guys, HUGE apology for post poning this update for so long. A few disclaimers – 1) my story is fraught with typos up until this point, and I apologize profusely that most of them will probably not be edited for awhile. Still, feel free to point them out to me. 2) last chapter, I mentioned that Hermione had erased the death eaters' entire memories when in fact, she only temporarily erased part of it. My apologies for the blatant mistake, and thank you to everyone who caught it and pointed it out! 3) reviews are my best friend, and I thank everyone who has taken the time to review so far. They have meant the world and kept me writing. NOW sorry for the novel AN, here's the next chapter, hope you enjoy. **

A zombie – or a monster – probably a zombie was floating towards them – it was sickening, horrific, and he couldn't breathe and couldn't move. He'd only seen a beard like that on one person before, but the idea that this ghastly apparition in front of him could possibly be the same as that one.

Someone was emitting a shrill shriek, and he was only mostly sure that it wasn't him, and only because his vocal chords seemed paralyzed. He was tripping in his haste to make it back to the door, but his eyes were glued to the rapidly approaching figure, and he couldn't tear his attention away in time to undo the deadbolts.

Hermione slammed into the door beside him, and crumpled to the floor. Instinctively, Ron shifted to stand between her and the terrifying dust man, but Harry was still in front of him, and for one wild moment, he was positive that Harry was about to die. He was about to lunge forward and flatten his best mate to the ground, when Harry suddenly croaked, "No! No! It wasn't us! We didn't kill – "

Dumbledore – for Ron knew with a surety now that that was who it was – exploded, and Ron raised his hands.

"– you! "

A moment later, Ron's heart stuttered back to a pulse, and he turned to see Hermione still in fetal position beneath the door knob. Rather than the silence that he was expecting, Ron could hear numbly the familiar shrieking of Sirius' mum.

_"Unworthy, vile blood – traitorous disgrace!"_

Ignoring it, he trembled his way closer to Hermione and patted her shoulder awkwardly, wishing he could see her face. "It's all right," he shivered, "It's gone."

She stayed still for a moment more and the cruel screams still echoed around the hallway.

"SHUT UP!" Harry's angry shout made he and Hermione jump, and she finally revealed her wide eyes. Ron immediately extended his hand, and she clung to it, letting him pull her full weight up. He did so without trouble, but let go quickly.

"That … that was ..."

"Yeah, but it wasn't really him, was it? Just something to scare Snape."

Hermione nodded as if reassured. They followed Harry farther into the house. Hermione's fingertips kept brushing his arm, which didn't help with his nerves. He felt her jump as a mouse ran from them, making an eerie scratching noise. He finally reached out and grabbed her elbow, not wanting to make her uncomfortable, but determined to lend some sort of assurance.

"Before we go any farther, I think we'd better check," Hermione whispered suddenly, and Ron released his hold on her arm.

"_Homenum Revelio_."

Ron couldn't say he was unsurprised when her spell didn't work. She was still pale and shaking.

"Well you've just had a big shock. What was that supposed to do?"

By the expression she shot him, Ron knew that he'd messed up again.

"It did what I meant it to do!" she snapped irritably, "That was a spell to reveal human presence, and there's nobody here except us!"

Of course she was already snitty with him again. Trying to lighten the mood, he tried, "And old Dusty."

"Let's go up," Hermione replied, ignoring him. Feeling half exasperated and half embarrassed, he followed them silently to the drawing room. He watched Hermione shakily fall onto the couch and wished she wasn't irritated with him. He would have liked to put an arm around her. If only for something to do, he strode over to peer out the window.

"Can't see anyone out there, and you'd think if Harry still had a trace on him, they'd have followed us here. I know they can't get in the house, but – "

"Gah!"

Ron spun around to see Harry clutching his forehead, and his heart began to race. Harry only had pain in his scar when You-know-who was really angry or really happy. And honestly, both extremes were enough to make Ron want to lose his lunch. "What did you see?" he demanded of Harry, who was still looking dazed. "Did you see him at my place?"

"No, I just felt anger – he's really angry – "

Ron's stomach dropped. "But that could be at the Burrow!" he thought of his mum, Ginny. "What else? Didn't you see anything? Was he cursing someone?"

"No, I just felt anger – I couldn't tell."

He looked so nauseous that Ron immediately regretted his badgering. As Hermione chimed in shrilly about how dangerous Harry's link to Voldemort was, Ron felt even worse for trying to take advantage of it. Harry still looked like he might be sick, Hermione was worried for his well being, and here he was trying to siphon information from his best friend.

"Yeah, I do remember, thanks," Harry finally snapped, and spun around, fingering a tattered tapestry. Hermione glanced at Ron, who shrugged, indicating that he was completely baffled at what to think. Then he jumped and Hermione yelped as a sudden form floated through the window. Realizing quickly that it was a silver patronus, he stared, transfixed, as it formed a weasel – one he recognized to be his father's.

"_Family safe, do not reply, we are being watched."_

He had a million more questions, but at the words, "Family safe," he felt elated. Whimpering with relief, he fell back into the sofa behind him. Hermione slid onto the cushion next to him, grasping his forearm.

"They're all right, they're all right!" she chanted quietly, and Ron laughed in relief. He pulled her tightly against his chest. She tightened her arms around his waist and buried her face into his shoulder.

"Harry I –" Ron started, feeling guilty still.

"It's not a problem. Its your family, 'course you're worried. I'd feel the same way." Harry was still grimacing, and Ron couldn't figure out why. "I _do _feel the same way."

He still looked pained, but just as Ron was about to push the matter, Hermione mumbled into his shoulder, "I don't want to be on my own. Could we use the sleeping bags I've brought and camp in here tonight?"

Ron held her at arms' length so that she could see his smile – one that he hoped was reassuring.

"'Course we can. That's probably best."

"Bathroom," Harry muttered from behind them, and left the room. Once alone, Ron immediately blushed to find his arms still tightly wound around Hermione's shoulders. Clearing his throat he loosened his grip.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, jumping away from him. She was pink as well, and Ron wondered how the previously chilly room had become so warm.

"So three sleeping bags can really fit in that?" he gestured to Hermione's bag, and flushed brighter when his words cracked. Hermione smiled timidly at him.

"Yes – sleeping bags, tents..."

"A circus," Ron finished for her, and they both chuckled. "Sometimes," he continued, "I can't decide whether you're barking mad or bloody brilliant."

"Maybe a little bit of both," she grinned, sinking back into the couch again, closer to him.

"Yes, I reckon you're both."

They were arm to arm now, staring at each other, one expression stoic, one triumphant. They were scowling and beaming and finally, they burst into laughter.

"Ron!" Hermione chastised, but he was pretty sure that she didn't know why either.

"C'mon boss, let's get set up," he finally sighed, and stood up to offer her his hand. She took it, but was still laughing too hard to support herself, and they almost fell back onto the sofa. Instinctively he reached out to grab her other hand, pulling her firmly to her feet. He stared down at her – why did she keep ending up this close to her? He thought about how easy it would be to lean down and kiss her. The thought was terrifying, so instead he cleared his throat and stepped away. Hermione's eyes had gone wide, and she backed away from him dizzily, staring at her hands.

"The toothbrushes have probably all rolled to the bottom," she murmured, and turned to retrieve her miraculous handbag. Ron stared at her back for a moment, still feeling a bit sluggish. Her dress, somewhat tattered after their series of mishaps, still clung flatteringly and looked beautiful.

"Oh, here they are." Hermione stood up straight again, the three brushes clutched in one hand. Her hair fell back against her neck, and one piece was sticking to her lip. Ron couldn't seem to unglue his eyes.

"I'll take this one up to Harry," she said, and it was obvious that she was determined to ignore the tension. He grunted his acknowledgement then moved over to where she had begun once more to sift through the bag.

"I can set up the sleeping bags." He held out his hand.

"Right there," Hermione gestured vaguely to the vast inside of her handbag and hurried away and up the stairs. Ron heaved a moan and shoved his hand into the entirely too minuscule purse. "Bloody – " he snapped when it sunk down what felt like at least a meter. He groped around until he grabbed hold of the first sleeping bag, and heaved the other two out. Inspecting the rolls, he decided that the red one looked the warmest, and tossed it over to a place for Hermione. Then he quickly set up the other two for he and Harry, sheepishly throwing his pillow on the spot next to Hermione's.

When the others returned, all three sleeping bags were set up, the red one on top of two cushions, with Hermione's light yellow pillow resting at the head.

"Oh honestly, I don't need – " Hermione started when she saw it.

"No, you don't _need_ it, but you're getting it anyway," Ron retorted, "You're a girl."

Hermione looked ready to bite out a scathing reply to that comment, but Harry cut in with, "Hermione, please just let us feel like men."

Ron barked out a laugh and nodded. She finally conceded.

Once all three had settled deeply into their covers, Ron lay awake for what seemed like hours. From the soft snoring coming from his left, Harry had fallen asleep a long time ago. He, instead, stared through the dark at what he knew was the ceiling and thought about the Burrow. He wanted nothing more than to go back. He thought of his family, the Delacours – all the other wedding guests – and his heart sped up. He didn't know what he'd do if anything happened to any of them.

He stilled then as, suddenly, he heard a slight shifting. Realizing it was only Hermione, he strained his ears to listen closer. He suspected that she was crying by the sound of her soft, rapid breathing, and when she hiccuped, he was sure of it.

Propping himself up on his elbow made more noise than he was counting on, and she fell silent. He knew that she'd thought he'd been asleep.

"Hermione," he whispered.

"I'm sorry Ron, I didn't mean to wake you," she sniffled quietly.

"No – don't apologize. What's wrong?"

His eyes were adjusting to the darkness, and he could see that only her head was exposed. She was facing him. He was surprised when she bit out an ironic laugh that was strangely cold.

"What's wrong? Ron – _everything_. It's _all_ wrong!"

He had nothing to say to that. It was true. They had dropped out of Hogwarts. Harry was wanted by death eaters, they had already fled his brother's wedding and destroyed a muggle cafe today, and were now camping out at a decidedly unpleasant, Slytherin house like fugitives. They were alone and camped out in sleeping bags.

"Good point," he finally resigned, and they fell into a long stretch of silence. Harry mumbled something intelligible, and suddenly Ron realized why everything didn't feel so wrong to him. "It _is_ a good point, Hermione, except ..." he was determined to sound as smooth as the words were in his head, so he took a minute to figure out how to say it best. He could tell she was watching him, as he opened his mouth and said, "I'm here. And you're here. And we're fighting with Harry. And as long as it's us three, then you know that there's still one thing that's not wrong."

Hermione laughed again, but this time it was much warmer. "Wow, Ron, I do believe that you're right."

Ron snorted. "First and last." He glanced at a small, pale shape lying between them. Squinting his eyes, he thought that it must be her hand. His heart immediately began to thud, and it seemed as though the distance between their hands was insurmountable. Regardless, he forced himself to reach out and cover it.

Her fingers twitched under his, and he was about to apologize and pretend it had been a mistake. Before he could, she turned over her hand and linked her fingers through his.

"It's not the first time," she finally murmured, and he could hear the smile in her words. She squeezed his hand, and he chuckled shakily, realizing that even this small part of her connected to him made so many more things better than just OK.

"Sweet dreams Hermione."

"Thank you Ron. For … everything."

"Anytime."

He closed his eyes, still smiling. He fell asleep with one thumb stroking the back of her hand.


	16. Courageous

**AN: Dear readers, it has been much too long. Thank you dearly to those of you who recently commented that gave me the motivation to finish this chapter and finally update. Also, I just reread this story and realized that the typos, especially the pronoun confusions (i.e. saying he instead of she, effectively changing the whole point) up until now are pretty bad. Thanks for bearing with me anyway :) **

**None of this belongs to me, and I hope that you enjoy. Reviews are HIGHLY encouraged and appreciated. **

Hermione woke up suddenly, eyes wide. The startle wasn't from a dream that she could remember. She couldn't figure out what had disturbed her sleep. She was toasty warm everywhere … ah, except her arm. That would be why.

"What are you doing all the way over there?" Hermione yawned to the misplaced appendage. Her bare arm was draped awkwardly over the mattress beneath her in a position that she never slept in, which was puzzling.

"Oh Merlin," she murmured, and was instantaneously wide awake. Like she always did in surprising situations, she ran through a list of facts. Her hand had woken her up because it was cold. Her hand was cold because it was lying outside of her sleeping bag. Her hand was lying outside of her sleeping bag because she hadn't tucked her arm under herself like usual. She hadn't tucked her arm under herself like usual because – her breathing sped up – because she had fallen asleep holding hands with Ron. Because _Ron_ had grabbed _her hand. _

"Merlin," she repeated with an awed smile. Sighing happily, she glanced at the boy in question, sleeping peacefully next to her.

"They weren't expecting to turn maroon!"

Hermione blinked in surprise as Ron heatedly finished the random statement.

"Erm … who wasn't expecting to turn maroon?"

"You _know_ I hate maroon! I've always . . . no questions – they're always coming."

Hermione giggled. She had known he hated maroon since second year, but she had never known that he spoke in his sleep – and so articulately!

"Who's asking you questions, Won-won?" she prodded him, mirth in her tone.

"Mostly always the same . . . always the same."

"Person?"

"No you bloody moron! I don't want bloody maroon!"

Hermione jumped a little, then shoved her fist to her mouth to refrain from laughing aloud. True, she knew he hated maroon, but she never expected that it went as far as to give him nightmares. She collapsed into a fit of silent laughter.

"No one is making you wear maroon," she told him patiently when she could manage anything.

"Thanks Hermy," he mumbled and smiled faintly. Hermione started at this – so he could hear her? And what in Merlin's name would possess him to call her _Hermy_ of all things?

"Anytime at all . . . Ronny?" she tried, and then made a face at how strange it sounded.

"Ronny? Ergh – that's awful."

Hermione arched an eyebrow, realizing that Ron had become coherent sometime during his strange rant. "It's better than Hermy," she retorted, to which Ron smirked with his eyes still closed.

"And both are better than a duffer name like Harry, right mate?"

There was no reply from Harry's sleeping bag. Figuring he was probably still asleep, Hermione propped herself up on an elbow. However, all she could see was an empty sleeping bag.

"Since Harry wasn't around to appreciate that joke for himself that last comment was actually rather rude," Hermione teased, embarrassedly taking advantage of the opportunity to survey Ron's face in detail.

"Well where is he?" the latter demanded, still sleepily.

"I do not have a clue," Hermione rolled her eyes. "However, if you'd like to open your eyes and look for yourself, I wouldn't protest."

She watched Ron's face scrunch up distastefully before one of his eye lids cracked open. Noting the bright light, he quickly shut it, moaned, and rolled over, burying his head into his pillow. The shock of red hair was poking out in a mess to rival Harry's, and Hermione had a strange desire to run her fingers through it. Then again, it wasn't _that_ strange seeing as she'd had the same sort of urge plenty of times in the past. Shaking herself out of the tangent her thoughts were taking, she noticed that Ron was mumbling incoherently into his pillow.

"Wait, Ron, what?" she stopped him.

"I said that it's really a party down here, so I can't imagine how he could manage to part with it," he told her with a seemingly great amount of effort that it took him to prop himself high enough off of the pillow that she could understand. He was peering at Hermione with one eye, the other still smashed against his lumpy pillow.

"Right – and were you having a nightmare about being forced to wear maroon to this party?"

He frowned, obviously puzzled. "What're you on about?"

"I'm not certain – you were mumbling about someone wanting you to be maroon, or wear maroon or something. It sounded dreadful." The corners of her mouth were quirking.

Ron flushed bright enough that the one ear that was visible turned red. "When was I . . ."

"Oh, just a few minutes ago."

He groaned and rolled his eyes. Hermione could tell from his exasperation that he must sleep talk a lot. She couldn't help but smirk at the idea. "Well, it must have been a nightmare. What lot of duffers would try to get _anyone_ to wear maroon to a party of all places?"

Hermione snickered, and Ron's pleased expression at her reaction gave her a strange thrill.

"All right now, that's enough fun at the sleep-talker's expense," he finally interrupted her, waving his hands. "Where's that chosen boy to intervene when you need him?"

"In the loo I would imagine," Hermione replied flippantly.

"I _know_ he's not fixing his hair, and if it's taking him that long to do his business then he must be very ill," Ron snorted. Despite his light tone, Hermione thought about the logic of his facetious words. In an instant she let all of the fears of the past few days consume her, and she'd jumped out of her sleeping bag. With a grunt but, uncharacteristically no protest, Ron stood next to her.

"Harry, are you there?" she called in the direction of the near bathroom.

"He's probably in the one on the second landing – or in the bedroom up there. It was ours," Ron's reassuring voice came from behind her.

"Oh, good thinking." They hurried together up the first flight of stairs. However, the scene that greeted them did nothing to ease their minds. The bedroom door, which was standing wide open, exposed a room dimly lit full of shadows of what looked like toppled furniture and strewn clutter.

"Harry?" she whispered with trepidation. Her wand raised, she poked her head inside. As her eyes adjusted, she gasped.

"What in the name of Merlin's mother . . ." Ron murmured behind her.

"Someone's been here. Someone's been searching for something – " She left the rest of her thoughts unspoken, feeling dizzy and slightly queasy. "Oh Ron . . ."

"Harry!" Ron shouted immediately, and they fell urgently out of the room. His hand locked on her wrist as he pulled her out and back towards the stairs.

"Ron, stay down here and check these landings and the bathrooms – I'll make my way to the top."

He opened his mouth in obvious protest, but she had already pulled free and was darting farther up the stairs. She was relieved that he didn't try to follow – they might not have time enough to search together. On the third landing, she peered into the bedroom and gave a small cry of alarm as two bats dislodged from some dusty curtains and flapped over her head.

"Hermione! What happened?" Ron's voice from a floor below her sounded panicked.

"Just startled, don't worry," she called back with a shudder. She could hardly call a couple of bats a catastrophe, but they'd certainly shaken her. Creatures did not belong in drapery. Gathering her wits, she turned to appraise the room. Like Ron and Harry's old bedroom, it was totally ransacked. The curtains were shredded. Books and photos were scattered haphazardly through the room.

"Harry!" She screamed again, and this time there was an edge of desperation. She could hear Ron echoing the sentiment from below her. She took the next flight of stairs and almost tripped in her haste to get up them. After the strange places that death eaters had shown up lately, and the terrifying that Harry had gotten himself into in the past, her heart was racing and her mind was beating it with the worst scenarios her imagination could come up with.

"Harry! Harry! _Harry!_"

"In here – what's happened?"

Gasping of relief, and from her flight up the stairs, Hermione sprinted to the nearest door and pushed it open.

* * *

><p><em>"Accio Locket<em>." Hermione glanced hopefully around the room, waiting for the horcrux that she already suspected would be protected against such simple enchantments as that.

"Is that it, then? It's not here?" Ron asked sadly. Hermione hated the look he was wearing – as though her knowledgeable tone had brought some hope and then she'd crushed it.

"Oh, it could still be here but under counter enchantments," she replied apologetically, "Charms to prevent it being summoned magically, you know."

"Like Voldemort put on the stone basin in the cave."

Hermione shot him a grateful look, feeling as though his added point of view somehow validated hers. "How are we supposed to find it then?" Ron demanded, evidently not caring about the trivia. He was looking at her rather than Harry. Wincing slightly, Hermione said, in a would-be confident tone, "We search manually."

Ron rolled his eyes and retorted, "That's a good idea." Harry smirked a little, but silently complied, returning to his perusal of the desk. Hermione took her place at the shelf next to the curtains. It had nothing to do with being next to Ron, she assured herself as she began sifting through drawers.

"It was just a thought," she tried to explain to Ron in a low voice. She didn't want him to think that she'd only been trying to prove a point. Ron, who had looked rather disgusted a moment before at the amount of dust billowing from the curtains now turned his surprised gaze on Hermione.

"What was a thought?" he replied, not unkindly.

"Erm … the accio thing. I didn't mean to undermine anything . . ." She trailed off as Ron's expression turned into slightly incredulous amusement.

"Undermine? Hermione – I wasn't offended."

"You were annoyed," she countered hotly, feeling even more embarrassed at his lack of care.

"Well, combing through dusty curtains that are probably _loaded_ with spiders–" he shuddered "-isn't exactly my idea of a bully time, but I wasn't annoyed at _you_."

Hermione smirked. "Well I think it's probably safe to proceed to the next crevice of the room since I doubt Regulus folded the locket into a curtain."

Ron retorted quickly, as though he'd already anticipated this. "He might have stitched it in!"

Hermione raised an eyebrow, about to comment on the number of reasons that situation was ludicrous when Harry chimed in from across the bedroom, "Oh yes, because part of learning to be a death eater is knowing how to sew curtains."

Hermione laughed, but Ron, obviously unfased snapped, "Even death eaters have mums – maybe his taught him how."

All three paused a moment to let that idea sink in. Hermione was picturing, as she knew the other two were, the charming woman pictured in the large painting that they all knew so well, imagining her teaching her Slytherin fanatic, death eater son to use a needle and thread. They simultaneously burst into peals of laughter.

"That is a right frightening picture," Ron sighed when they'd gained composure. Hermione grinned widely at him, glad for his better mood, and appreciative of the way his face flushed when he laughed. It wasn't nearly as pink as she knew he could get when embarrassed (such as the other day behind that blasted stack of presents), but it gave him a healthy glow that she always associated with happiness.

Then again, most everything associated with Ron had something to do with happiness.

She was startled out of her reverie a moment later when Ron jumped and swore loudly, stumbling over Hermione's foot in his haste to get away from what seemed like a simple wardrobe.

"What is it?" Hermione demanded worriedly, her want already raised out of habit.

"Huge – hairy –"

"Ohhh . . ." Hermione realized that it was a spider moments after Harry had already finished smashing it with his shoe. Now that the immediate threat was over, Hermione could easily see Ron's shame. He was already bright crimson and wearing a scowl that she knew meant he was silently kicking himself. Attempting to make him feel better, she chimed in, trying to sound nonchalant, "Oh, I'm glad I haven't seen any. I _hate_ spiders." Luckily she wasn't lying, or else he would have been able to tell. Ron's expression, however, plainly stated that he knew what she was trying to do.

"You don't need to do that," he grunted crossly.

"Do what?"

"Pretend I'm not a bloody coward."

Surprised that Harry hadn't cut in yet, Hermione realized that he was half under the bed searching and probably couldn't hear them anymore.

"Ron! You are not a coward! You are in Gryffindor for a reason –"

"Because my whole family –"

"Is brave! Like you – but you're the bravest Ron, you really are."

Ron made an incredulous noise in the back of his throat.

"No – listen. Think of everything you've been through. It is perfectly reasonable to have one fear that is shared by _loads_ of people! I'm terrified of spiders too – any logical person should be. And I _never _would have dared to go in that forest with all of them second year – but you did!"

"Only because –"

"NO! Ron, listen. You went into that forest _knowing_ those miserable things were everywhere. You went, you stayed!"

"Maybe, but I was petrified the whole time!"

"No _I_ was petrified the whole time," Hermione smiled wryly.

"Not funny," he growled sullenly, but she could tell that she'd made him want to smile. "You know that's the only reason I did it, don't you?"

"Yes, and that's one of the many reasons you've always been one of my heroes." She couldn't bear to look at him as she said this, but she could feel his gaze on her. He was red and his eyes were shining, even if there wasn't a visible smile on his face. The look elated her, scared her, and made her feel like maybe he was starting to believe that she meant what she said when she called him amazing. She would never understand why he couldn't see how courageous he was to her. She would never understand how clueless he was to his own worth. She would never understand why he could see good in everyone but himself.

However, regardless of how or when it happened, she swore to herself that she would change that. If it took until the day she died, she would convince Ron Weasley to see himself with the same eyes she did.


	17. Maroon

**AN: Here is a short flashback that takes place on February the fourteenth, 1993. I say short because it really should be, but seeing as it isn't coming months after my last update, I'm going to let it be pardoned :) Please review, especially on your thoughts about staying in character (or not) and whether or not you like the flashbacks. Thank you, thank you, thank you, especially to those who have stuck this one through. **

When Ron made his way down the dormitory stairs on the 14th of February, he had forgotten that it was a significant day of any sort. In fact, it couldn't have seemed more average. Harry was still asleep (good thing, poor bloke, after the late night practices Wood had been putting the team through) and Ron's stomach was rumbling in eager anticipation for a hot Hogwarts breakfast.

Hermione stood to meet him when he'd reached the common room, already dressed and ready just like usual. She marked the spot she'd been reading in her book – _Magical Me_, Ron recognized with a scoff – and smiled brightly at him.

"Ready for breakfast then?" she asked with eyes that were sparkling with an unfamiliar glint. Ron shrugged it off as some leftover feline effect from her recent polyjuice potion complications. "Erm, yes," he replied somewhat hesitantly, puzzled by the unusual hop in her step as she turned to lead the way through the portrait hole. Come to think of it, there were more witches than just Hermione that seemed rather queer this morning. Was it just Ron, or were there an excess number of giggling girls clustered in the halls? Could he be imagining the suggestive glances girls kept shooting each other?

He was about to ask an explanation of Hermione, but they'd reached the doors of the great hall and the wafting smell of steaming breakfast beyond quickly replaced all thoughts of strange girls in his head. Holding one of the doors open for Hermione, (who giggled shrilly, much to his embarrassment) he balked at the sight of the room beyond.

"Galloping gargoyles," he murmured, and gaped around, following Hermione inside with not a small amount of hesitance. Hermione was sighing in apparent appreciation, but as Ron took in the garish pink flowers plastered all over the walls, he realized with a sickening jolt what bug had infected the girls of Hogwarts. It was Valentine's Day.

"What – " he started, as something fell lightly onto his nose. He swiped it off with a finger, and inspected it closer. When he realized that it was shiny, maroon confetti heart, he considered bolting.

"Isn't it magical?" Hermione breathed in apparent awe. She clasped her hands together in obvious delight and nearly skipped to the Gryffindor table. Ron, whose gangly legs were much longer than Hermione's, had no trouble keeping pace with her without skipping, thank-you very much.

"Isn't it always?" he muttered back, but Hermione paid his insolence no mind.

"Happy Valentine's Day Lavender, Parvati," she was gushing to the other second year girls.

"Happy Valentine's Day Hermione –" they shared a scandalous glance " –and Ron!" They then collapsed in a heap of raucous giggles. Ron, appalled, felt his face heating rapidly and marched swiftly away to the other end of the breakfast table. Hermione trailed merrily behind him, exchanging sappy well wishes with every female they passed.

"Whose bloody idea –" Ron began hotly as they reached their seats, but the arrival of a good looking wizard dressed in revolting pink robes calling, "Oh, Happy Valentine's to _you_ Miss Granger, and glad to see you so healthy," both interrupted and answered his unfinished question.

"Of course Lockheart, the smarmy git!" he sneered bitterly. He noted with anger that Hermione was looking flushed, flustered and positively overflowing with nauseating bliss.

"Oh Ron, don't call him that," she insisted halfheartedly, glowing dreamily with barely concealed elation.

"Oh forgive me, I didn't mean to insult your boyfriend!"

Hermione had flooded with color by now too, but it wasn't the usual red that filled her face when she was mad. No, her pinks had turned delicately pink, and Ron knew that it was wholly out of embarrassment and pleasure. He supposed that he should be relieved that he hadn't angered her for once, but the idea of her _fancying_ a teacher, honestly – it was vile. However, as he lost himself in these thoughts, he noticed for the first time that her cheeks matched her lips when she was blushing like this. It was a rather nice effect – not like the lurid pink that Lockheart had hung on the walls, but lighter.

"Stop looking at me like that!" Hermione suddenly demanded crossly, and Ron realized that he certainly had been staring at her for much too long. Luckily, she must have misread his gaze as taunting rather than the bizarre attrac – no, _contemplation_ that it had been. Ron mentally shook himself – he'd gone as batty as the girls! What in Merlin's name had possessed him to notice such bizarre things about his best friend? Had he really been thinking about the color of her _lips_?

He could feel his face reddening even worse than it already was. The heat was crawling up his neck, onto his ears and into his hairline and knowing that he probably looked like a tomato made it even worse.

"Ron! Are you all right? You're turning purple!"

"Maroon," he spat with humiliation, "I'm turning maroon."

Hermione looked puzzled at this, and he didn't blame her. It wasn't her fault that Fred and George had once spent over an hour trying to diagnose the exact hue of Ron's flaming face. It was only after he'd put on one of his old, maroon sweaters that they'd finally been able to put their fingers on it.

"I suppose so, but are you sure you're all right?"

"I hate maroon," Ron snarled back, and caught a heart shaped confetti in his palm. It was pale pink, but he raked his fingers through his hair and shook the small pile off of his head. Sure enough, there was a maroon one.

"Look!" he demanded, pinching it between two fingers and shaking it furiously for her to see. "I match this stupid thing!"

Hermione was obviously frightened, and rather amused. This only angered him further.

"It's a terrible color!"

"Ron, you look fine."

"You just said I was purple!"

"No – I ..." but she couldn't finish, bursting into giggled, burying her head into her arms and shaking violently. Ron was mortified, and tried to console himself by noting how truly obnoxious Hermione could be. Sure, she could be clever, funny and helpful, and was his second best friend, but she was still a _girl_.

Glaring, Ron grabbed a fork and began shoveling one of anything onto his plate with a vengeance. When another heart fell right in the middle of his pumpkin juice, he finally exclaimed, "What is it with all the bloody maroon?"

Nearly Headless Nick, who was floating cheerfully by, chimed in helpfully, "Why young man, it's St. Valentine's Day!"

"I bloody well know what day it is!" he barked back, and was rewarded with Nick's highly affronted huff and another round of uncontrollable laughter on Hermione's part.

"Why Ronnie-kins," he suddenly heard, and with a sinking feeling in his gut, he watched his twin brothers approach his spot on the table. "What could the charming Miss Granger possibly have said to turn you such a vibrant shade of your usual maroon?"

Hermione's eyes widened, obviously not realizing previously how far back he and maroon went.

"Oh sod off," Ron grumbled, but knew that it was no use. Telling the twins to leave him alone was the equivalent of begging them to exploit every insecurity he had. And they certainly knew all of his.

"What's wrong little brother, did we hit a nerve?" George egged him on, ruffling Ron's hair and his feathers in one go.

"Wow Granger," Fred added, "You've got his knickers all in a twist!"

"I don't wear – " he protested, but a whole crowd of surrounding Gryffindors drowned him out with their laughter. However, as humiliated as he was, it was with satisfaction that he noted Hermione's returning blush.

"Between you and us Granger," Fred continued, lowering his voice as if to speak with only Hermione. However, he knew as well as Ron did that everyone could hear his next words. "I'd say that you could definitely get better, lovely girl that you are."

This started her giggling all over again, and they sauntered away, leaving Ron with their crowd of fans, and a girl that wasn't at all like the Hermione he knew. He noticed as they left that curly words were charmed into the back of their robes - "No need for Valentine's – we'll take galleons instead."

"They're demented!" Ron rolled his eyes, but even he had to acknowledge with some admiration that his brothers had style. Looking anywhere but at his girl best friend (or who he thought was her) who was now giggling with Katie Bell, Ron looked to the staff table to find a somber looking staff. That is to say, a somber looking staff minus the battily clad Lockheart, who looked fit to have won several thousand galleons and Dumbledore who, to Ron's utter dismay, was dressed from head to toe in none other than robes of the deepest maroon.

Ron couldn't be happier or more relieved to see an scared looking Harry making his way towards them, but then lost any and all cheer the sight might have brought him as Lockheart suddenly stood and strutted his way towards the microphone.

"Lovely," he snorted, and turned his attention back to his bacon.


	18. Mum's the word

**AN: Nothing to say but sorry for the wait and hopefully (cringes) you enjoy this little piece. The next chapter will actually be coming shortly (much sooner than I've been updating as of late, my apologies). I hope I've managed to stay in character and PLEASE review, **_**review**_**, REVIEW, **_**REVIEW!**_ **Thanks :)**

Ron was appraising Hermione nervously when Kreacher finally disapparated later that morning. Her face had grown steadily more grey, and at this point he was just hoping that she wasn't going to be sick.

The moment Kreacher was gone, Harry had jumped to his feet and left, clambering loudly up the stairs. Hermione, on the other hand, remained crouched and staring, frozen, at the spot the pathetic creature had vanished from. Hesitantly Ron slid a hand onto her back, which seemed to startle her back to reality. Snapping to her senses, she bolted to her feet and began pacing, making her way rapidly back and forth across the kitchen.

"Oh, it's vile!" she cried heatedly, not even glancing at Ron. He stood as well, watching her warily.

"How can wizards and witches – any human being treat such harmless creatures with such . . . cruelty? This is exactly why they need freedom – to think of how brainwashed they are, how pathetic – how mistreated and beaten and miserable and terrified!"

Her cheeks were gaining color, her hair seemed to be crackling with energy, she was gesticulating wildly, and those eyes were positively burning with righteous fury for her impassioned cause. Ron thought he had never seen anything so beautiful or frightening, but figured that neither adjective would be wise to voice just then. Instead, he nodded and leaned back against the table.

"I suppose you're laughing at me," she accused suddenly, rounding on him.

"I wouldn't dare," he told her honestly, but knew immediately that it was a mistake.

"Oh is that so?" Her arms were folded tightly against her chest in a fierce gesture that he was rather fond of.

"Truthfully? Yes. But that doesn't mean I wouldn't have taken you seriously anyway."

She was still tense, but he could tell that her ferocity was waning. With a huff she slumped into a kitchen chair. Ron took the one opposite.

"Why is no one else as revolted by this as I am?" she finally sighed, placing her head on her arms. This was one of those times that Ron knew he needed to choose his words carefully, and he always tried, but he tended to muck everything up anyway.

"Hermione, trust me, I _am _revolted. In fact, that was easily the most revolting thing I've seen since the last Chudley Cannons match."

"Yes, but I don't mean revolted by the elf. I mean the way he's being treated."

"Well what about the way he treated you, huh? Doesn't it ever bother you that you're the only one who seems to give a rat's butt about him and you're the one he's constantly cruel to?"

"Oh don't you see? He's just brainwashed! He can't help what witches and wizards have forced him to believe all his life."

"Well if he's . . ." Ron trailed off, knowing that were he to vocalize his true sentiments on the subject, Hermione would not be impressed. Evidently she realized this, because she sighed again and shifted her head so that all he could see of it was a mass of tawny curls. He suppressed the urge to reach out and stroke it with some annoyance at his lack of self control.

"All right Hermione, I reckon you're right about houselves, even if it doesn't seem like anyone else cares, but the thing is, you'll have time to change how things are. For now though, just focus on one cause at a time. As crucial as Kreacher's liberty is, I'm sure it will wait."

Hermione sat up and gave him a searching look that he wasn't entirely comfortable with. "Since when have you been so good at these logical spiels of yours?"

Relieved that she wasn't going to hex him for a misstep in words that he wouldn't understand, he barked a laugh. "Hardly. But you know what they say – when Hermione's happy, _everyone _is happy."

Hermione smiled at him, and it gave him a sharp stab of triumph that he didn't quite understand. He was used to bizarre sensations like it, though, so he wasn't taken too off guard.

"I see. So all of the kind, reasonable things you say are merely in effort to _placate_ me?" She was using a tone that he hated – one that spelled danger. He could never decipher what exactly he needed to say, only that one wrong step could lead to catastrophe.

"Erm … no?" he tried with trepidation.

Scoffing, Hermione stood suddenly from the table. Otherwise she ignored his obviously inadequate answer as she began rummaging through the various nooks and crannies of the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" he inquired tentatively. Hermione shot him a coy smirk that made his stomach flip.

"Well since you're so intent on placating me, I'm returning the favor and making you breakfast."

Ron grinned broadly. "Fair enough." Hermione held his gaze for a moment too long before flushing prettily and turning back to inspect a shelf.

"I wonder if a Daily Prophet subscription would be too conspicuous," she remarked offhandedly, pulling three saucers onto the counter next to her. Ron watched her, though the cupboard door now concealed her face. He could just see the end of her curls spilling alluringly over her shoulders and collar bone. He couldn't help but indulge himself, letting his eyes travel slowly down the rest of her, all soft curves and subtle femininity, down to the exposed skin of her calves. Calves should hardly seem sensual, but after years of seeing her only in robes, the dress she wore at Bill's wedding had given him a new fascination with them.

"I feel too cut off – even a muggle paper wouldn't be bad – anything to tell us what's going on outside." She was still speaking, and he felt guilty for having zoned out.

She had reappeared from behind the cupboard and was now watching him as though anticipating a reply. He gulped once, then grunted in acknowledgement. Satisfied with this, she returned to making breakfast, or at least clattering the empty silverware.

"Ron, would you mind reaching these glasses for me?" she asked, gesturing to the highest cupboard. In an irrational attempt to impress, he walked only close enough to get a good aim with his wand, then to drawl flippantly, "Accio glasses."

To his dismay, every cup on the shelf came shooting towards him in the next moment. Hollering uselessly, he raised hands in a sort of involuntary surrender, anticipating the moment of contact.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

The glasses stopped mid-flight, and Ron opened his eyes to see an amused Hermione with her wand pointed at the now hovering set of glassware. Carefully directing them, she set them gracefully and silently down on the counter.

"Why thank you, Ron, your help has been most productive," she told him exasperatedly. Her annoyance seemed feigned, however, so Ron moved to lean his elbows against the counter directly across from where she was standing with a smile.

"Remember that you were legal for almost half a year before I was."

"Of course," Hermione nodded condescendingly and patted his hand twice in a gesture meant to infuriate, then nonchalantly returned to her task at hand. He didn't miss the trace of a smirk as she turned away, humming slightly.

"All right _mum_, what's for breakfast?"

Hermione whirled on him, indignation and eagerness for a good argument in her eyes flaring. "Nothing with that tone," she retorted haughtily, demonstrating an uncanny resemblance to her current namesake.

"You're not actually my mum, Hermione," Ron told her, mockingly patient.

"Then I don't suppose I actually have to do the cooking?"

They stared each other down for a moment, but Ron could not come up with a thing to say to that. "Blimey Hermione, is it always necessary for you to win these things?"

Hermione glowed with triumph. "Oh don't have a fit. I'm still making your breakfast." Ron pretended exaggerated relief, wiping a hand over his forehead.

"Phew."

He was surprised when, rather than pulling out a pan, like he'd expected, Hermione instead grabbed her purse from behind her and stuck her hand into the depths of it. Cursing quietly, she pulled it back out, grabbed her wand, and muttered a quick spell, then opened her palm to let a lumpy sack fly into it. From that bag she fished out three squashed pastries, setting each one on a plate. Next, she selected three glasses, cleaned them with a swish and a "Scourgify," then silently filled them with water.

"It's ready," she then announced proudly, and began directing the excess glassware back into the cupboard. Ron stared a moment too long at the lonely looking dish with one small dessert resting on it in front of him – one, he realized, that was from his brother's wedding the night before. He acknowledged silently, prodding it with a finger, that at least it wasn't stale. Pulling the plate closer to him, he glanced up to find an apprehensive looking Hermione watching him carefully. With a pang of guilt, he realized that she was nervous for his reaction.

"Gourmet pastries – you've overdone yourself for rations on the run," he assured her, and took an enthusiastic bite. Hermione looked hugely relieved. He wasn't faking his enjoyment – it was good, even if it had taken somewhat of a beating in their spur of the moment escape. However, it was over in a couple of bites, and he willed his stomach not to complain about the hollow space left over.

Harry didn't seem to mind either, though Ron suspected that it might have something to do with his distraction with Kreacher's pending return.

After breakfast, Ron and Harry went upstairs to begin cleaning whatever they could. Ron just wanted to stop tripping over random Slytherin heirlooms – most of them rather heavy – but he knew that Harry was only trying to pass the time. However, Harry was standing, pacing and switching rooms so often that Ron could no longer stand the nervous energy and finally announced that he was going to find Hermione.

When he reached the living room, he found the witch in question pouring over "the Tales of Beedle the Bard" with a faint smile on her face. She made occasional scribbles in the margins, but otherwise seemed immersed in the book.

"Which one are you reading?" Ron asked, crossing the room to sit next to her on the squashy sofa. She glanced up at him with a smile that made him think that he might have been a pleasant surprise. This knowledge had him mirroring the warmth in her expression.

"I just finished the Wizard and the Hopping Pot. It's only the first."

Ron nodded knowingly, leaning over to peer at the illustration. "Mum's favorite – I liked it, but the warts always made me a bit ill."

"I didn't mind the warts as much as the bad cheese, sour milk and horny slugs," Hermione replied with a laugh. Ron was aghast.

"What? But I always thought it was only warts! Mum never said anything about slugs!"

Hermione was giggling now. "Don't worry – my mum always told me that Cinderella from our fairytales forgave her cruel stepsisters when she became a queen and invited them to her wedding, but in the real version, their eyes are pecked out by birds and they have to stand in the streets for the celebration."

Ron's expression wasn't very consoled. She only laughed harder at him. "So you've never read the original versions of any of these?"

He wordlessly shook his head, a little embarrassed now.

"Well then, this is the perfect time to start. I'm on the Fountain of Fair Fortune right now."

Ron had to hold in an "Ooh," of excitement and made a point of settling more comfortably into the sofa. "I think you'll like this one," he told her offhandedly, "It's Ginny's favorite."

Hermione began reading and Ron found that he could stay there forever, watching and listening. Her eyes were alight with an enthusiasm that he rarely saw anymore, but he realized he had missed. Her tone took on a melodic cadence that was broken only occasionally as she would pause to comment on the story.

"'Pay me the proof of your pain' – hmm … blood maybe? Tears?"

".'..all symptoms of her dread malady' – I wonder what malady they might be talking about?"

"...'you must bathe, as a reward for all your chivalry' – this story is pro muggle, just like Hopping Pot!"

Ron was quite literally mesmerized, finding himself riveted by her every word. She spoke in a way that was so reminiscent of his own mum telling him the tales, yet she somehow had him feeling about the furthest things he could from his mum. He had never enjoyed reading quite so much, and found himself eagerly anticipating her reaction the ending. ("Oh! No enchantments at all – how clever!")

Completing the tale, she announced the next title - "the Warlock's Hairy Heart" - with a distasteful scrunching of her nose. Ron snorted loudly, knowing that her distaste was for good reason. "Charlie and the twins loved this one. Mum hated it, but they made her tell it over and over again."

With slight trepidation, Hermione began reading the next tale. Ron could sense her unease as she read further, which only served to make him laugh harder. As she reached the end, he was nearly choking with mirth at all of the pauses she'd taken to gag or gasp in horror.

"...in one hand a great, smooth, shining scarlet heart which he licked –"

They simultaneously made noises of disgust.

"_Licked _it? Mum never said anything about _licking _it!"

Continuing now in equal revulsion, Hermione quickly sped through the rest of it. Once she'd finished, they sat in silence for a moment before she murmured, "It's just like Voldemort, you know, with his horcruxes. He really thinks he's more powerful by tearing himself into pieces, but really it's just vile what he's done. He's weaker than everyone else who can still feel, and he doesn't even realize it."

"Yes, but lucky for witches everywhere, he doesn't have a nose, so the likelihood of someone falling in love with him is fairly slim."

Hermione chuckled and turned the page. Ron, leaning over her shoulder, gave an excited cry.

"Babbitty Rabbitty!" Hermione eyed him with suspicion and amusement.

"I didn't realize you understood runes."

Ron flushed. "I just recognized the picture."

Mercifully, Hermione dropped it and began to read. However, before she was even past the "In a far off land," Harry walked through the door. He glanced between them both with a wide smirk plastered on his face.

"Story time?" he guessed. Ron felt his face heating, but Hermione only nodded matter-of-factly.

"Of course! Care to join us?"

Ron was surprised to see Harry hesitate rather than shoot the idea down immediately, and floored when he finally nodded and moved over to sit on an arm chair next to the sofa. Hermione picked up where she'd left off, hardly missing a beat. A little ways into the story, Harry cut in, "This reminds me of the other fairy tale – the muggle one – about the king and the clothes?"

Hermione gasped and nodded excitedly. "The Emperor's New Clothes! I couldn't put my finger on which one it was!"

Despite feeling a bit jealous of the knowledge they had in common, Ron felt happier than he had in awhile. It made a nice change to be sitting with his two best friends discussing fairy tales. It felt good to be able to share his favorite childhood story with them – sort of like the feeling of bringing them both to the Burrow for the first time. By wizard's standards, it was the shabbiest house for miles, but he could see in their eyes that they were completely in awe by it.

When Hermione reached the part about Babbitty Rabbitty turning into a rabbit, Harry and Hermione were both leaning forward eagerly, just like he and Ginny used to.

"This one's my favorite," he said proudly when they'd finished. Hermione raised her eyebrows.

"I never would have guessed," she teased him, and Harry laughed loudly.

"It's all right, Ron, I reckon if the Dursleys had read me fairytales as a kid, I'd have a favorite too."

"Mine was the Little Mermaid – the Disney movie came out a few years before I got my letter, but I always loved the original better. I'm not sure why. It was extremely morbid."

They digested this silently, then simultaneously burst out into laughter again.

"Thanks for reading to us Hermione," Harry told her finally, standing up from the chair and stretching. Ron followed suit, then extended a hand to Hermione.

"No, that's quite all right. I think I'll stay here and finish the last one."

Ron nodded. "All right. But sometime soon you're going to have to tell us all about that Little Mermaid story of yours. If it's as disturbing as real mermaids then we might have a problem."

She laughed, then turned back to the book in her lap. Ron, somewhat regretfully, followed Harry into the kitchen. Story time was over.


	19. Tension Running High

**AN: Thank you, guys, for favoriting and alerting and things like this, but PLEASE review! If you hate it then please SAY SO! If you don't hate it, then even better, but please please please don't keep it to yourself Anyway, basically none of this belongs to me. **

"Will you stop it?" Hermione was irate. How could Ron not realize that periodically taking away all light in _normal _circumstances would be annoying, but taking it away while all of their nerves were already so on edge was bordering moronic.

"Sorry, sorry. I don't know I'm doing it!" The light returned. Hermione felt somewhat guilty at his apology, but she couldn't help but adding, "Well, can't you find something useful to occupy yourself?"

"What, like reading kids' stories?"

Hermione recoiled at the anger in his tone, even if she knew that she probably deserved it. After all, he was the one who had eaten up every word of those "kids' stories."

"Dumbledore left me this book, Ron!"

"And he left me the Deluminator, maybe I'm supposed to use it!"

"Ah, yes, I'm sure he'd be proud to see the good uses you've put his gift towards – it's heartwarming!" she returned scathingly.

"Look, I'm sorry that I'm still like a titchy first year to you who can't sit and entertain himself to save his life!"

Hermione eyed him with one eyebrow raised, understanding this tactic that he frequently used – trying to get her to contradict his negative self image. It was tempting, as usual, since of _course_ she didn't see him that way, and of _course_ she wanted to tell him, but then he would win and she certainly didn't want that. Finally, with an air of surrender, she said, "Well then … how about a game of exploding snap?"

Ron's expression went at once from embarrassed and slightly irritated to elated. "Blimey, yes! You packed exploding snap? Merlin, Hermione, you are brilliant."

Hermione glowed at the praise then turned to their third party. "Harry, what do you –" she trailed off, realizing for the first time that Harry had disappeared. Ron made an annoyed grunt in his throat.

"That prat's more like a ghost than Nick is."

Sighing her exasperated agreement, she fished out the cards. However, they both froze when they suddenly heard the locks from the front door clicking faintly. Silently, they met eyes then stood simultaneously. The sound of someone entering and the door closing compelled them to quicken their pace, and as the sound of Dumbledore's dust form floating through the air reached them, Ron grabbed Hermione's hand and broke into a run.

"Don't move!" Judging by Harry's yell, it was obvious that they were dealing with an intruder. Straining to hear, Hermione cursed Sirius's mother as the unfortunate old painting suddenly began shrieking obscenities. Hermione released Ron's hand to retrieve her wand as they clambered down the stairs, skidding to a stop right behind Harry, whose wand was directed at the entrance hall directly below.

"Hold your fire, it's me, Remus!"

Hermione crumpled against Ron with relief, who threw his arm around her, she suspected, out of instinct. "Oh thank goodness!"

"-_Not worthy to stand in the house of –"_ Hermione moved her wand instead to point at the vile Mrs. Black, silencing her with a satisfying bang.

"Show yourself!" Harry was still insisting, and Hermione felt a pang of guilt for letting down her guard so soon. She listened to Lupin's list of facts with a second wave of relief, glad that that she hadn't made her self vulnerable to an imposter.

"Oh, all right, but I had to check, didn't I?"

"Speaking as your ex-Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, I quite agree that you had to check. Ron, Hermione, you shouldn't be so quick to lower your defenses."

Too ecstatic at seeing a familiar face to feel too chastised, she ran forward, giving him a quick hug. Ron clapped him on the shoulder, and Harry gave him another hug. After she'd pulled back, Hermione noticed that he looked even more aged than the last time she'd seen him.

Back in the kitchen, Hermione started a fire. She then took the chair closest to it, shivering slightly. She accepted Lupin's offered butterbeer gratefully and settled back into her chair. As Harry and Remus launched into a discussion, Hermione thought about what a nice change it made to have a real adult's perspective. It didn't do anything to dampen her spirits when Ron, noticing that she was still shivering, covered her hand with one of his and began rubbing quickly in an attempt to warm her up. He only held one of her hands, but it proved extremely effective. She felt heated in no time. Giving Ron a small smile, he hoped that he couldn't tell how glowing she felt.

He dropped his hand after only a moment, but even after, as she listened intently to the news Lupin had – news she'd been desperate for only moments before – there was a distracting knot of butterflies remaining in her stomach. However, as the conversations progressed, anything warm or fuzzy had vanished. Hermione sat, sickened, as Lupin described the events transpiring at the Ministry, with Scrimgeour, the wedding guests – she was livid as she skimmed the article he had brought about Harry's supposed involvement in Dumbledore's death. She heard all of this with a growing, overwhelming feeling of hopelessness. How could the wizarding world of her blissful childhood have taken such a turn for the worse?

The revulsion peaked as she turned the page in the Daily Prophet and began to read. Lines such as "…_obtained magical power by theft or force_," and "…_usurpers of magical power_," made her want to be ill. She could feel her face draining of color, and when she began shaking again, it had nothing to do with the cold. Ron was arguing the point, but she understood that logic and reason had nothing to do with the Ministry's current actions. Of course Ron was right, but Voldemort was in charge now.

"What if purebloods and half-bloods swear a muggle-born's part of their family? I'll tell everyone Hermione's my cousin –"

With an immense amount of pride and affection for Ron welling up into tears in her chest, Hermione reached over and squeezed Ron's hand.

"Thank you, Ron, but I couldn't let you –"

"You won't have a choice." Hermione was a bit taken off guard by the vehemence in his words as he laced his fingers through hers and gripped back. Somewhat facetiously he added, "I'll teach you my family tree so you can answer questions on it."

Hermione laughed, ridiculously touched by his concern. "Ron, as we're on the run with Harry Potter, the most wanted person in the country, I don't think it matters. If I was going back to school it would be different." She then addressed Lupin with a question she wasn't sure she wanted answered.

"What's Voldemort planning for Hogwarts?"

Ron slid their clasped hands underneath the table and onto his leg, serving as a small comfort as Hermione listened in horror to the new procedures of their beloved school. In her mind's eye she could see herself – the friendless, bushy haired twelve year old staring in awe at her Hogwarts letter thinking it had to be a dream. She finally understood why she had always been so different. She could feel the bliss of that little girl as she read through every text book several times and the sweet feeling that told her she was home.

Now, eleven year olds just like her would be preparing the same ways she had, but this time it would be for a future that not only did not exist, but one that might rip them away from family and security forever. She felt sure that Harry and Ron, the latter whose fingers were clenching tighter around her own, were thinking the same.

"It's … it's …" Harry attempted to voice.

"I know."

The silence that followed was filled with the most despair Hermione had felt since Dumbledore's death – including sending her parents away, Moody's death, their recent struggle with the death eaters, and Kreacher's tale. Until now she hadn't yet realized how entirely hopeless their cause had become.

She was a bit startled when Lupin launched suddenly into his next topic – the mission. Hermione sighed a bit with exasperation – how many times would they push this same topic before accepting the answer? As if Ron was reading her thoughts, his thumb began stroking hers placatingly.

However, she was taken off guard again when she heard, "I could come with you to provide protection. There would be no need to tell me exactly what you were up to."

She frowned, feeling uneasy. "But what about Tonks?"

"What about her?"

His brusque tone did nothing to ease her mind. "Well you're married! How does she feel about you going away with us?"

"Tonks will be perfectly safe. She'll be at her parents' house."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a startled glance. Uncomfortable with the whole conversation, she couldn't help but venturing, "Remus, is everything all right … you know … between you and –"

"Everything is fine, thank you." Lupin's words were tense. Hermione's face heated, but she couldn't drop it. Something was wrong.

"Tonks is going to have a baby."

Forgetting herself, Hermione gasped, "Oh, how wonderful!"

"Excellent!"

"Congratulations!"

Hermione looked to Lupin again, eager for more details, and was perplexed by the wince that was plastered on his face.

"So, do you accept my offer? Will three become four? I cannot believe that Dumbledore would have disapproved, he appointed me your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, after all, and I must tell you that I believe that we are facing magic many of us have never encountered or imagined."

Hermione was floored and rather appalled. His logic did not seem cohesive – he was blatantly brushing over the things that were most important. She glanced to Harry, relieved that the decision wasn't on her.

"Just … just to be clear. You want to leave Tonks at her parents' house and come away with us?"

"She'll be perfectly safe there, they'll look after her." Hermione cringed at his apathetic nonchalance. How could he speak of his wife and unborn child with such flippancy? "Harry, Im sure James would have wanted me to stick with you."

Hermione steeled herself for Harry's reaction, knowing how much he despised the "I knew your dad" card. His face went from confused to contemptuous in moments.

"Well, I'm not. I'm pretty sure my father would have wanted to know why you aren't sticking with your own kid, actually."

Hermione tightened her hold around Ron's anxiously, and she could see him averting his eyes. Her attention, on the other hand, was glued between the two men as the silence grew longer and colder.

"You don't understand."

"Explain then."

"I – I made a grave mistake in marrying Tonks. I did it against my better judgment and I have regretted it very much ever since."

Stunned, Hermione heard his words like knives, hurting for Tonks's sake, not believing that things like that were coming from _his_ mouth of all people, the teacher that she both knew and respected.

"I see. So you're just going to dump her and the kid and run off with us?"

Hermione let go of Ron's hand to wring her own anxiously. Lupin bolted to his feet, his glare murderous as he stared at the three of them. "Don't you understand what I've done to my wife and my unborn child? I should never have married her; I've made her an outcast!"

Hermione jumped as he kicked his own upturned chair.

"You have only ever seen me amongst the Order or under Dumbledore's protection at Hogwarts! You don't know how most of the wizarding world sees creatures like me! When they know my affliction, they can barely talk to me! Don't you see what I've done? Even her family is disgusted by our marriage – what parents want their only daughter to marry a werewolf? And the child – the child –"

Hermione's eyes filled with tears as she watched her ex-professor tearing at his hair, looking terribly demented. Her hand reached out instinctively to grip Ron's forearm.

"My kind don't usually breed!" he continued ranting, and Hermione found the tears spilling over. "It will be like me, I am convinced of it – how can I forgive myself when I knowingly risked passing on my own condition to an innocent child? And if, by some miracle, it is not like me, then it will be better off, a hundred times so, without a father of whom it must always be ashamed!"

"Remus!" she finally choked, "Don't say that – how could any child be ashamed of you?"

"Oh, I don't know, Hermione, I'd be pretty ashamed of him."

Hermione squeezed her eyes shut, horrified as Harry continued. Tears were streaking down her cheeks, and she felt something akin to watching a great city collapse.

"I think you're feeling a bit of a daredevil. You fancy stepping into Sirius's shoes."

Hermione gasped at these words and, in a vain attempt to stop Harry on the destructive path he was going, she cried, "Harry, no!"

She and Ron watched helplessly as Harry persisted, "The man who taught me to fight dementors – a coward."

Hermione screamed once, shrilly, as Harry was suddenly careening through the air, then slumping to the floor against the wall with a bang. Then Lupin was gone, disappearing as fast as the spell had been cast.

"Remus, Remus, come back!" The door slammed.

"Harry!" Hermione was full out sobbing now as she rounded on Harry. "How could you?"

"It was easy."

She raised her eyebrows.

"Don't look at me like that!"

His tone was vicious, but before she could open her mouth to retort, Ron was already growling fiercely, "Don't start on her!"

Hermione stepped hurriedly between them. "No – no. We mustn't fight!"

"You shouldn't have said that stuff to Lupin," Ron said from behind her.

"He had it coming to him. Parents shouldn't leave their kids unless – unless they've got to."

Hermione stretched out a hand instinctively towards him. "Harry –"

He moved out of her reach, closer to the fireplace, staring at it in silence. Hermione shot Ron a searching glance, but he only shrugged sympathetically, and then placed a comforting hand on her back. She leaned into it, grateful for the support. He couldn't know how much the little things like that mattered- even in impossible situations like the one at hand; it was good to know that she wasn't alone.

She wondered, however, if Ron felt the same as she did - the worst thing about the whole encounter being that she completely agreed with Harry on almost all accounts. However, if he had only exercised some semblance of tact or restraint, she might have been able to side with him.

Ron rubbed her back for a moment more, then squeezed her arm, and she knew it was silly, but she felt suddenly ready to face a dragon.


	20. Dueling Practice

**AN: Hello all! Some of you have asked that I include, at the beginning of each chapter, a little setting description, so I certainly will! This next chapter takes place on August 25, 1997 at Grimmauld place (for a little timeline, Lupin and Kreacher both come on the 4th, and the retrieving of the locket at the Ministry happens on Sept. 2****nd****.) However, Ron also remembers scenes from other days that same month at Grimmauld place, so please try and bear with me. **

**Also, this scene is dedicated to Anna, my wonderful, also Harry Potter obsessed friend whose birthday happens to be on the 25****th**** of August. **

**Sorry for the novel author's note, but really quickly, PLEASE guys, review. And to all those who do, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you. You guys are completely phenomenal. **

Ron woke with a start and a smile, blinking for a moment as he tried to process where he was. Remembering Grimmauld Place, he reflected back on the dream he'd been having. It had started with a scene from a week ago, after Harry had left for the Ministry that day. It had begun with real events from the day – Hermione sliding to sit next to him on the couch, plopping sheafs of notes onto his lap and summoning a desk. However, the real events following had involved a tired, innocent Hermione dozing on his shoulder for an hour.

An admittedly pleasant experience (Ron could never get used to the feel of her lips and nose nuzzling his neck, or the sweet smell of her hair surrounding him, even if she _was_ technically unconscious), in his dream, the lips that had pressed so accidentally against his neck weren't accidental at all, and needless to say, the stack of notes hadn't stayed in place for very long.

However, he felt like there had to be another reason why today seemed an abnormally good day. Only the day before certainly hadn't been particularly pleasant in any way – he'd actually spent seven hours watching boring people do boring things with nothing to show for it besides a depressing and overall uneventful Daily Prophet, a bad attitude, and too many hours of pondering what might be happening between Harry and Hermione as they spent the hours locked inside alone together.

Then it dawned on him. Today it was Harry's turn to venture to the ministry again. As much as he worried for his best mate at the ministry, he didn't have to worry about his best mate and his … for lack of a better term … Hermione at the same time. Besides, seven hours _alone_ with Hermione twice a week was, in his mind, nothing short of a miracle. Besides, no accidents or even close calls had happened yet.

This had held true especially recently. For some reason, even after everything that had happened between Ron and Hermione, there were some lines that were silently agreed upon being uncrossable. Yes, Ron could grab her hand or put his arm around her, but never unless she was cold, stressed, sad, tired or at an extraordinarily sentimental wedding or funeral.

Ron could ask her questions for hours about her favorite classes, childhood memories, greatest fears, biggest disappointments (not that he was often the one to come up with such topics first), but there were three subjects that could never be breached – Lavender Brown, Viktor Krum, and whatever unspoken emotions were currently unfolding between them.

They could openly express their worry at each others absences, but somehow could never admit that they enjoyed each others company, regardless of the likelihood of maiming or death involved in the present situation. Merlin forbid she found out that he actually liked being with her.

He thought back on the first day at the ministry. He had been the first one, going the day after Lupin and Kreacher's surprise arrivals. He had known the entrance to the ministry for years and wanted to see his dad, so it made sense. He had only stayed two hours that day after arriving later in the afternoon than they'd planned. Yet, it had felt like an eternity imagining the jolly time Harry and Hermione were surely having and the things that they would surely be flirting about.

He needn't have worried. He'd arrived back that day to a restless Hermione pacing the first level of Grimmauld Place like a caged hypogriff. She had flung herself into his arms the moment she met his eyes with a force that made him lose his balance and slam back into the door behind them.

"Oh I'm so sorry!" she'd stammered, pulling back. "Are you hurt? How was the ministry? Did anyone suspect? What happened? Oh Ron, I am sorry, really – "

But Ron only laughed at her, disregarding the rest of the statement to pull her back into his embrace. Harry appeared a moment later, also looking relieved. It eased Ron's suspicions slightly to see them both looking so anxious for his well being, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Harry was so much greater than he could ever be – so much smarter and better suited for a girl like Hermione.

He thought about the rest of the days they'd taken turns at the ministry. The worry factor, though it hadn't disappeared completely, had lessened considerably. Sneaking around the ministry under an invisibility cloak turned out to be a piece of cake, and it didn't cause any of them much stress anymore. The two that stayed home would, ideally, spend the majority of the day going over notes, organizing ideas and, most importantly, formulating a plan.

However, on the days that Harry and Ron were left alone, they played loads of wizard's chess. (Harry was improving at rapid pace, much to Ron's dismay). Ron and Hermione, on their days alone, after Hermione had refused to play wizard's chess, had passed a good chunk of time with exploding snap – a card game that Ron was becoming rather fond of. The majority of the memories associated with it involved a certain muggle-born witch - always a plus in his book.

Only about a week before, Hermione had ended up sitting opposite him for a good half hour after they'd finished a particularly heated game, trying to bring his eyebrows and eyelashes back in evenly. Though an innocent action, the top she'd worn had been rather loose at the neckline, and by the end of the hour, Ron was nearly mad from a mixture of lust and mortification.

Back in the present, Ron shook himself out of the assuage of memories. A quick glance at the clock told him that it was nearly ten and that Harry would be leaving soon. Jumping out of bed, Ron grabbed the pile of clothes Kreacher had laid on a nearby chair. After dressing, he inspected his reflection in the tactless talking mirror, ("You might try slouching a little or people might think you're some sort of spotted giant.") which he ignored, and hurried downstairs.

Hermione, over a simple breakfast of coffee and toast was drilling Harry on his tasks for the day.

"Please make sure those gates can be unlocked with a simple 'Alohamora.' And if you could figure out how many tokens we need, that would be very helpful. And, of course, a prophet would be nice, but isn't it always?"

Harry and Ron exchanged an amused glance. Turning his gaze, then, on Hermione, Ron noted that her hair was loose – his favorite. It had been a long time since she wore it down, and Ron was, once again, struck by how attractive the girl was in front of him. She wore a flowery shirt with shorts too high for his sanity or comfort. Gulping, he made his way over to join them for breakfast.

A little later, after Harry had left, the two sat in companionable silence for awhile, alternating reading sections of their latest copy of the Daily Prophet from the twenty first. Ron, pretending to be completely absorbed in a sentence he had read six times, was hoping that it wasn't painfully obvious how distracted he was by the idea of a nearly bare legged Hermione not four feet from him.

That is why he was surprised when he heard a sudden gasp. He glanced up to find a furious, watery eyed Hermione staring down at the newspaper.

"What – what is it?" he asked worriedly, scooting his chair around so that he could simultaneously throw his arm around her shoulders and peer down at the section she'd been reading. Skipping over a small article about new radio restrictions, his eyes found what he was looking for, and he felt his jaw dropping involuntarily.

MUGGLE, GRANGER, KNOWN TO BE IN HIDING WITH WANTED MURDER SUSPECT, HARRY POTTER – CLOSE SOURCE REVEALS LIKELY ROMANTIC CONNECTION.

The whole title angered Ron, but thinking back on Hermione's previous indifference at similar claims in fourth year, he wasn't sure what had triggered the emotional outbreak.

"Don't worry about it," he tried timidly. "Everyone should know by now what a bunch of demented blighters run this rag." He rubbed her arm in attempt to be soothing, waiting only a moment before she spoke.

"Muggle, Ron. They called me a muggle."

How could he have been so stupid? The word had barely registered with him, but he realized with a pang everything that "Muggle" implied under Voldemort's new regime. Magic thief – criminal. How Hermione – certainly, had circumstances been different, the next head girl, top in her class – Hermione the driven, clever, brilliant, bloody hardest worker he had ever known could be taking this attack to everything she had ever worked for – every skill she had perfected – he could only imagine.

Forgetting his nerves completely, he reached around Hermione with both arms, hugging her to his chest. In the process, she somehow ended up curled in his lap, head pressed against him. Why this seemed like the right moment for this dangerously romantic gesture he had no idea; he just knew that it felt like the most natural thing in the world to hold her like this.

"No one who's ever known you will believe this, Hermione. It's completely cracked. Barkin' – even all the Ravenclaws knew you were better than them. Made the rest of us look like a bunch of duffers. I reckon you're the smartest student who's ever been to Hogwarts."

He was rewarded with a muffled chuckle from beneath the sweet smelling head of hair.

"Oh yes – Rowena Ravenclaw paled in comparison. And, naturally, Dumbledore didn't have the faintest chance of comparing to my intelligence."

"Not even close," he replied somberly, pressing her head a little closer to his heart. He was swaying slightly and stroking her hair in a moment fitting for one of the novels his mum read. After awhile, Hermione suddenly shattered the serenity as he could suddenly feel her beginning to laugh.

"What's funny?" he asked, pulling back, slightly miffed.

"Me … blubbering on over the fact that I was called a _muggle,_ of all things for me to take offense at – I _love_ muggles! I was raised by two of them!"

Ron grinned at this too, and they shared a comfortable smile before Hermione, realizing the position she was still in, turned pink and nervously shifted back into her own chair.

"Erm … thanks, Ron. You're always having to witness me falling apart."

"It's my pleasure," Ron replied readily, then flushed as he realized the implication of his words. "And that is not what I meant! I mean it's my pleasure to be here - not that you ... "

Hermione sniggered, obviously back to her normal, teasing self.

"'Course it's not! Now – shall we get back to work?"

"No," Ron replied without hesitation. "How about instead we do absolutely anything _but_ work today? We've gone over those notes so much that I could take an exam on them and pass. It's sickening!"

Rolling her eyes, she chuckled anyway.

"Your delivery wasn't terribly convincing, but your suggestion sounds divine," Hermione said with a sarcastic air of formality.

Ironically, the first thing they decided to do was practice dueling. Hermione was desperate for a chance to shout spells at someone not trying to kill her (which, frankly, seemed a little backwards to Ron), and Ron was willing to do anything to distract her from the dire circumstances outside. After setting some basic rules, no fire or non vocal spells, Hermione counted to three.

"Stupefy!"

"Protego!"

Hermione took a step back as the force from Ron's shield pushed her back. Both had enthusiastic smiles on their faces. Reminded of Dumbledore's Army, Ron tried another simple spell, "Expelliarmus!" but she was expecting that one, and had a tight grip on her wand.

"Patrificus Totalus!"

Ron fell to the floor with a thump, humiliated. Hermione smugly came to stand over him. She performed a counter charm, and the moment Ron could move again, he shouted, "Tarentallegra!"

She dodged it, then cried, "Aguamenti!"

He balked as the jet of water came streaming toward him, giving him barely enough time to point his wand at himself and shout, "Impervius!"

The fountain ricocheted off of him, spraying Hermione and all of the surrounding furniture. Hermione stood, gaping in shock. Tendrils of wet hair were plastered to her cheeks rather pleasurably, and droplets of water were making their way in rivulets down her face.

Ron was snorting so hard with laughter that he didn't notice Hermione's wand suddenly pointing direly at his shoes.

"Duro!"

Without another word, she whirled on her heel and ran for the door. Ron, moving to run after her, tripped onto his face when his feet didn't move with him. With a jolt of equal frustration and admiration, he realized that she had turned his trainers to stone.

"Colloportus!" he cried, just in time to seal Hermione inside the room with him. He wasn't sure, but he thought he heard her mutter a quick swear word, making him grin broadly even trapped on the floor as he was.

Concentrating only on his shoes so as not to blow up his feet, he muttered, "Reducto!" and they flew away in pieces.

However, just as he was regaining his footing, Hermione was blasting a hole in the door with a spell he couldn't hear over the raucous. She crawled through with considerably less effort than Ron behind her, bending almost in half in order to fit through the small opening. He shouted "Impedimenta!" as soon as he'd reached the other side, but missed her miserably.

He barely avoided the wobbly legs jinx that she shot back at him, but lost some momentum jumping to the side. Sprinting to catch up, he had the advantage with his long legs and was rapidly lessening the distance between them. They were both breathless from laughter and Hermione was squealing with a mixture of glee and fear.

"Incarcerous!" she gasped suddenly, pointing at his ankles. Thick ropes coiled around his ankles and calves, binding them together. With a yell of alarm, Ron, for the second time in a matter of minutes, fell forward. This time, however, Hermione came with him.

Had they landed chest to chest, or even if Ron's head had managed to land somewhere closer to hers, Ron supposed that the moment could have been salvaged somehow. It would have been simple to laugh it off or, if he was fortunate enough, even to prop himself up on his elbows and kiss her then and there.

However, rather than fate cutting him a moment of slack, Ron landed, grunting, with his face pressed into the small of her back, and her backside right beneath his chest. One of his hands was flattened against the bare skin on her upper thigh.

Ron's heart dropped a distance that felt like at least thirteen feet, but couldn't have been, because it seemed to land somewhere in his toes.

_Merlin, no. _

Careful not to press his hand into her leg, or to let too much of his weight rest on her, he gingerly rolled away and flopped onto his back, his face heating. Glancing over at Hermione, he realized that she hadn't rolled over, and had actually buried her head into her arms in what appeared to be a gesture of crushing defeat. Horrified, he noticed with a jolt that she was shaking, and in a moment of insanity he thought that she must be sobbing.

"Hermione – ah, Merlin, I am so – "

She tilted her face slightly so that he could see that it was actually screwed up in silent peals of mirth. Tears were streaming down her face as she collapsed into giggles.

Ron, still somewhat appalled by her nonchalance, only held his composure for a moment before he surrendered as well, and fell down beside her, both of them shaking with laughter.

When they had somewhat regained themselves, they rolled onto their backs, staring at the ceiling quietly.

"So … should we clean up?"

"Nah … how about a quick game of Exploding Snap?"


	21. Mafalda

**AN: Good day to you all! Quick couple of things to address – It has been brought to my attention that Hermione's wardrobe last chapter wasn't totally time period accurate. I tried to research pretty well – the shorts, at least, were correct, but I think that true, she probably wouldn't have worn just a tank top. My mistake. Also, there have been some concerns about her dress for the wedding not matching up to Mary GrandPre's version of it in the book. Well, as for that, I do not picture it the same way that specific illustrator does, and she does not picture it exactly the way J.K. Rowling did, or any of the other illustrators for other editions. I stayed true to the description in the novel, and time period accuracy. But thank you very much for reviewing and being honest about what you think – I appreciate it. Kindly KEEP REVIEWING! **

**This scene takes place on September 2, 1997 – Ron, Harry and Hermione are carrying out their plans for infiltrating the ministry. Cheers **

"And now we put on the cloak again – "

Ron was smirking as he finished for Hermione, "-and we wait." In a gesture that was bizarrely sweet, he threw the cloak over her head as though tucking her in. She watched anxiously from beneath it as the two boys ducked behind various bits of rubbish, checking to make sure that no part of them could be seen by an outsider.

When Hermione's target appeared, she was tempted to close her eyes while stunning the little old lady, guilty as she felt about it. She looked on in concern as, after being hit square in the chest, the witch thudded to the ground.

"Nicely done, Hermione."

She dropped the cloak and flashed a thankful smile at Ron, then assisted them in heaving the woman into the alleyway.

As she completed the polyjuice potion with some sprinkled hairs, Hermione listened intently as Ron listed whatever random trivia he could come up with about the witch – Mafalda Hopkirk, an assistant in the Improper Use of Magic Office. She hurriedly tucked away the Ministry coins Ron passed her, put on the spectacles (which were a dramatic improvement to the obviously nearly blind woman's eyesight) and waited.

The next part was a great deal trickier, for it required actual association with other Ministry workers. As she struck up conversation with the seemingly agitated little wizard that Ron was to become, she grew desperate for him to stop talking and eat one of the puking pastilles.

"I insist!" she demanded in a tone that she hoped was formidable and, to her relief and chagrin, the wizard finally (somewhat fearfully) popped one into his mouth.

Losing no time, Hermione yanked his hair out, something he didn't notice due to his suddenly violent vomiting. Growing more alarmed by the moment at his odd insistence on going into work, Hermione finally argued him into going home, trying to keep a sympathetic expression plastered on her face as the man, covered in sick, clung to her to pull himself into a standing position. Hermione was perfectly happy to see him disappear.

After Hermione as Mafalda and Ron as the ferrety Reg Cattermole conned their large and angry looking coworker into a nosebleed nougat (something Hermione didn't feel nearly so guilty about), and Harry had transformed into the man, they each took a token and moved towards the separate doors to the toilets.

"See you in a moment, then," Hermione stammered, eyes wide. Trying to get a good view of how the women in front of her were entering the ministry, she picked up a low murmur of conversation.

"…vile how they have us flush in. Everything about the Ministry is vile these days."

_Flush in?_ As Hermione's turn came, she held onto both sides of the wall to stand on the seat of the toilet before gingerly dipping the tip of her toe into the water below. When it came out completely dry, she knew immediately what to do, stepped fully into the bowl, and promptly yanked the chain to her right.

Feeling a tug in her gut, Hermione was suddenly sucked into a tunnel and shot out of a fireplace at the other end in a moment so quick that she barely had time to process it. She nearly hit the fidgety Magical Maintenance worker and stopped herself from exclaiming his name out loud.

They made their way together over to the large statue in the middle of the room, Hermione gazing on in revulsion. The first thing she noticed was the stern faces of the giant witch and wizard sitting on extravagant thrones side by side. Next she saw the familiar phrase that now gave her a bad taste in her mouth – "Magic is Might" – and finally, as she peered closer, she saw the demented bodies that made up the vast chairs.

Ron interrupted the horrific moment with a "Psst!" and Hermione turned to see the huge, intimidating Harry moving towards them.

"You got in all right then?" she asked him worriedly.

"No, he's still stuck in the bog."

Hermione scowled briefly at Ron's sarcastic remark – an outlet that Hermione knew he used when he was just as nervous as she was.

"Oh very funny." She noticed Harry gaping at the statue. "It's horrible, isn't it? Have you seen what they're sitting on?" Not knowing why, her voice dropped to little more than a whisper. "Muggles. In their rightful place. Come on, let's get going."

A moment later, just as they had almost reached the row of golden lifts that would take them hopefully to wherever Umbridge's office was, Hermione stiffened as she heard the sudden shout of, "Cattermole!" behind her.

She spun around in time to see a livid, cruel looking man wearing exquisite robes of mauve and gold.

"Morning, Yaxley," someone from the crowd mercifully spoke up, identifying the man. It was a small comfort, as Hermione's stomach went cold, recognizing the name as belonging to a known death eater.

"I requested somebody from Magical Maintenance to sort out my office, Cattermole. It's still raining in there."

Hermione's immediate reaction was to begin processing every possible way to stop water that Yaxley might not have tried yet. She tried to focus on that rather than the tempting urge to step between this horrible man and the clearly petrified Ron who was, true to character, making a wild stab at humor.

"You realize that I am on my way downstairs to interrogate your wife, Cattermole? In fact, I'm quite surprised you're not down there holding her hand while she waits. Already given her up as a bad job, have you? Probably wise. Be sure and marry a pureblood next time."

Though Hermione's indignant squeak was a reaction that paled in comparison to the one she was sure the real Reg Cattermole would have given had he been there, it still earned a suspicious glare from Yaxley, so she quickly turned it into a cough. Helplessly she listened as Ron stammered and Yaxley continued bitterly on about filth and mudbloods.

"If my office is not completely dry within an hour, your wife's Blood Status will be in even graver doubt than it is now."

Then, finally, he was gone. Once safely alone, Ron began immediately, "What am I going to do? My wife – I mean, Cattermole's wife – "

"We'll come with you, we should stick together – "

Hermione was already nodding at Harry's words.

"That's mental, we haven't got much time. You two find Umbridge, I'll go and sort out Yaxley's office – but how do I stop it raining?"

"Try Finite Incantatem," Hermione supplied. "That should stop the rain if it's a hex or curse. If it doesn't, something's gone wrong with an atmospheric charm, which will be more difficult to fix, so as an interim measure try Impervius to protect his belongings."

"Say it again, slowly." Ron was patting himself down in search of a quill and parchment. Hermione paused, remembering that he had to memorize everything she was saying. Then, suddenly, the lift was stopping again, allowing two men and two purple paper airplanes to enter.

"I can't find a bloody quill," Ron muttered under his breath. Instinctively, so that they could whisper, the two moved closer together.

"All right, just listen then. Finite Incantatem. If that doesn't work, it's more complicated, and you'll need a reversal jinx or charm to stop it – you'll need to find someone who knows one. Regardless, use Impervius for his things to protect them. You shouldn't have trouble with that particular spell."

Her lame attempt at humor worked, and she was rewarded with a weak smile.

"You'll be fine, Ro – er, Reg. I promise." The look he gave her was familiar, even on the older, different face.

But, much too soon, an eerie woman's voice was echoing, "Level Two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services."

Ron looked as though he had processed none of this and was as white as a ghost. Feeling like his expression matched her feelings exactly, Hermione placed a hand on his back and nudged him forward. Ignoring the odd looks from the other two wizards, Hermione stared after his retreating, defeated form.

"Actually, Harry, I think I'd better go after him I don't think he knows what he's doing and if he gets caught, the whole thing – "

"Level One, Minister of Magic and Support Staff."

As the lift doors opened again, Hermione's eyes zeroed in on one figure, clad in all pink, that stuck out like a sore thumb – one she had hoped never to see again.

"Ah Mafalda!" The beady eyes of Delores Umbridge were piercing, and Hermione felt herself freezing up. "Travers sent you, did he?"

Realizing that she was expected to say something, Hermione managed to stammer, "Y-yes."

"Good, you'll do perfectly well. That's that problem solved, Minister."

Hermione looked at the man – Pius Thicknesse, she now realized – with new eyes. So this was the Minister of Magic.

"… we shall be able to start straightaway. Ten people today and one of them the wife of a Ministry employee! Tut, tut … even here, in the heart of the Ministry!"

Hermione moved numbly aside to let the unpleasant woman and her escort enter "We'll go straight down, Mafalda, you'll find everything you need in the courtroom. Good morning, Albert, aren't you getting out?"

Hermione's eyes widened and she stared pleadingly at Harry, begging him silently to come up with some brilliant excuse as to why she couldn't follow Umbridge or why he had to come with them.

"Yes, of course," he said instead, and Harry was gone.

"I'm very glad you're here, Mafalda," Umbridge started up the moment he was gone. "I was beginning to worry that we'd have to spend all day interrogating these ridiculous mudbloods. It's a pity the lengths they will go to in order to keep up a silly lie."

Hermione, terrified and furious, could only nod. The lift descended lower and lower, and they sat in near silence – Umbridge was humming cheerfully to herself.

The doors opened a moment later and Hermione was overwhelmed by the familiar sight before her. There was the dark corridor, and, farther down, the door that lead to the Department of Mysteries. Her relief when Umbridge turned instead to a door on the left was short lived, however. As they made their way down the stairs, Hermione felt a creeping sense of hopelessness and a chill that filled her, choked her, overwhelmed her – she knew this feeling all too well, and she wanted to cry or give up or stop and let it possess her.

Dementors.

With a voice that had lost none of its perkiness, Umbridge cleared her throat and said nonchalantly, "Expecto Patronum."

A long, silver cat sprung gracefully from the tip of her wand, dissipating the feeling immediately and leading the four of them passed the foot of the stairs and around the corner. However, the scene awaiting them was no better than the dementor induced depression. A small crowd of shivering, pale muggle-borns and their families hovered on benches, all of them squinting and blinking as the patronus approached, as though they'd been in a cellar and were only now being exposed again to the light of the sun.

One woman who had been weeping into her hands the moment before moved instinctively closer to the feline patronus, but a dementor immediately stood between them, and the woman shrunk away again with a squeak of alarm. A man in the corner shot a fierce glare at them, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to admit the truth to this poor crowd of people that, had circumstances been different, she could have been one of.

They continued walking until Umbridge finally came to a halt before a heavy looking door on her left. The two wizards accompanying them moved at once to open it for her, and she walked through with a sickening skip to her step. Hermione followed with considerably less excitement and a great deal of trepidation into the

dungeon cell.

In horror, she stared around – the walls felt as though they were closing in on her, and the high ceiling gave Hermione the distinct impression that she was very trapped. The dark crowd of dementors did nothing to ease that feeling.

A single chair was located in the center of the room beneath a balustrade on a raised platform at the front of the room. Behind the balustrade sat Yaxley, as he'd promised Ron earlier. As they entered, he shot an oily smile in Umbridge's direction, greeting her with a nod.

"Ah – Miss Hopkirk, a record keeper. We can start, then." His words were spoken with an unmasked air of anticipation. Nauseated, Hermione followed Umbridge onto the platform, taking the seat next to the toad-like woman.

"Here you are Mafalda," Umbridge was saying, sliding a quill, ink, parchment and a bound book full of names and records towards Hermione. It opened magically to the first page with space. Glancing at the top of the page, Hermione read silently, with a sinking feeling a list of convicted "magic thieves" and their fates – all Azkaban.

"Right, thank you Dolores," Hermione murmured. This reply obviously sufficed, because in the next moment Umbridge had turned her full attention to the door with an eager, amphibian smile. After magically magnifying her voice so that it would carry through the door, she called, "Now … to start us off, Robert Everstall."

The door swung open to reveal the glaring man from before, escorted on either side by dementors, making his way stiffly into the room.

"Sit down."

The man complied without breaking eye contact, and didn't flinch when chains suddenly sprung up around his legs and arms.

"You are Robert Thomas Everstall?"

He nodded once, sharply.

"Married to Joan Lynch Everstall?"

Hermione noticed the first hint of emotion as he winced, but nodded again without speaking a word.

"Father to Eva Everstall?"

The pain was evident in his eyes, but still, he said nothing, only jerked his head in a nod.

"Today a wand was taken from your possession. Eleven inches – oak, dragon heart-string core. Does that description sound familiar to you?"

Robert nodded again, and Hermione wondered how long it would take him to break.

"And from whom did you steal that wand from?"

His jaw clenched in apparent fury, but all he said was, "I did not."

"Do you know that it is a crime to lie on trial, Mr. Everstall?"

He nodded.

"Then do not lie to me. From what witch or wizard did you take that wand?"

"I did not."

Umbridge's face was flushed, and twisting into an unpleasant expression that was truly frightening. She and Yaxley were both looking agitated, and judging by the reactions of the rest of the muggle-borns, Hermione figured that were this man to grovel and cower, they would be gleeful.

"You filthy mudblood!" Yaxley finally spat. "Where did you get your wand?"

"You know as well as I do, Yaxley, that I bought my wand at Ollivander's when I was eleven-years-old," Robert replied evenly.

"I've had enough. Get this lying filth out of my sight."

The chains fell away, and the dementors looked all too willing as they swooped down on him, grabbing his arms as he swept proudly from the room. As Hermione watched him go, she felt like crying again, but this time for a reason quite different than that of endless despair – this time, it was because in that man, she had seen hope.


	22. Reg

**AN: All right, here's the second and final Ministry of Magic chapter. I must say, I'm relieved they're done, as they're quite a challenge to write and probably laced with discrepancies. I apologize for those – I have tried to be as accurate as possible. **

**Either way, thanks a million times over for your continued support. Please keep on keeping on with it and keep REVIEWING! You guys are wonderful.**

**The setting hasn't changed since last chapter. Enjoy :)**

Ron stared, helplessly as the rain continued pouring down, ricocheting off sheaves of paper (many of which were too late to save), several expensive looking gadgets, a large oak desk and a leather chair. Sopping wet himself, he finally exited the precipitating office, hoping wildly that someone who knew what to do would be close by.

"Reg!" a shrill woman's voice greeted him, and he spun around to face a pinched looking witch in robes that matched his own.

"Oh – er, afternoon."

"Ah – trying to stop someone's office from raining again?" she guessed in a voice appropriate for speaking to a child, eyeing his dripping clothing. He nodded sullenly, and she must have realized that he wasn't successful, because she continued, "Go find Bernie – he might know what to do. Pillsworth, you know?"

Ron nodded with relief, eager for any new ideas. "Thanks Mrs. …" he drifted off with a cough hoping to disguise the fact that he did not know her, hoping that she wouldn't notice his seeming sudden lapse in memory. Waiting for the lift a moment later, he was embarrassed, dripping wet as he was, to encounter an intimidating, richly dressed man already in there.

"M – morning," he tried, unsure of how it would be taken by the cruel looking wizard.

"Ron, it's me, Harry!"

"Harry! Blimey, I forgot what you looked like – " He was relieved, but then paused in nervous confusion. "...why isn't Hermione with you?"

"She had to go down to the courtrooms with Umbridge, she couldn't refuse and – "

Ron listened with growing horror, but Harry was interrupted as his dad and an oddly dressed witch suddenly joined them in the lift.

"I quite understand what you're saying, Wakanda, but I'm afraid I cannot be party to – "

Ron gaped as his dad trailed off mid-sentence to glare fiercely at Harry – Harry, who, for all intents and purposes was currently an obviously very powerful dark wizard. No wonder his dad was always in trouble.

"Oh, hello Reg. Isn't your wife in for questioning? Er – what's happened to you? Why are you so wet?"

Glad to be able to distract his father from his wrath, Ron explained, unable to look him in the eye, the circumstances.

"Yes, a lot of offices have been raining lately. Did you try 'Meteolojinx Recanto?' It worked for Bletchley."

"Meteolojinx Recanto? No, I didn't. Thanks D – I mean, thanks, Arthur."

He wanted so badly in that moment to reveal himself to his dad, who he hadn't spoken to or heard from in over a month. However, it was then that the doors clattered open, Ron's cue to leave. However, as he was darting out, he was met with another shock. Percy, nose in a stack of papers, strode passed, not even looking up as he did. Had he been himself, he would have been torn between mediating the icy scene that was sure to ensue, or beating the snot out of his git of a brother himself. However, he was not himself, and with great effort, he sped away.

The moment he had cleared the lifts, all Ron could think about was other, more pressing things. One part of his mind was occupied with Yaxley's office but the other, more pressing part, was urging him to get to the courtrooms with Hermione as soon as possible.

Meanwhile, an entire row of wizards in cubicles was currently staring him down.

"Er … morning," he croaked weakly, and decided that it would be too suspicious to ask for a Bernie Pillsworth when he was probably supposed to know him, and Pillsworth might be one of the wizards right here for all he knew. Finally, he spun on his heel and strode back to the lift, leaving the crowd of bemused Ministry workers behind him.

Once back in Yaxley's office, Ron raised his wand and, with a deep breath, spoke aloud the spell he'd been chanting in his head since minutes before when his dad had suggested it to him.

"Meteolojinx Recanto."

To his surprise and immense relief, the rain stopped immediately. Having just the presence of mind to reverse the "impedimenta" spell, he finished and bolted out the door. After reaching the lift, Ron stayed in the corner all the way down. Several wizards nodded at him in greeting, but thankfully none were on familiar enough terms with him to strike up conversation.

However, as the lift clambered to a stop at the atrium, he knew that something was wrong. Witches and wizards were rushing about and a voice was echoing over an unseen loud system.

"Intruder alert – beginning Ministry lockdown. Intruder alert – beginning Ministry lockdown."

Ron's heart stopped, and he turned his attention to a conversation between two wizards dressed in the same robes Yaxley had been in. "There was a hole in Delores's door where she used to have that hideous eye."

Bemused, Ron quickened his pace, making his way to the grilles that he knew from experience would take him down to the dungeons. The atrium was in such chaos that it took him almost double the time to get there than usual.

Finally alone in a lift, Ron waited, wondering what he was going to do once he got down there and how he was going to find them. He needn't have worried. As soon as the doors clattered open, he was greeted by the strangest crowd he'd ever seen – Harry and Hermione, both with patronuses at the front, and a score or so of random strangers, all looking shaken and frightened.

Instinctively moving towards Hermione, he was suddenly slammed into with an object at the force of what felt like a hypogriff.

"Reg!"

Ron eyed the dark haired woman in confusion before remembering who he currently was, and that he had a wife who, indeed, would have been down in the dungeons for her trial. She was speaking a million miles a minute, but all he could see was Hermione's face – unfamiliar, but as relieved as he felt.

"Why are you so wet?"

Ron turned his attention reluctantly back to the woman in his arms. "Water," he told her, but there were bigger issues than the state of his robes to address. Trying to be as gentle as possible, Ron pulled away from his "wife" to speak to Harry.

"Harry, they know there are intruders inside the ministry – something about a hole in Umbridge's door – I reckon we've got five minutes, if that –"

He watched Hermione's otter vanish and felt a pang of guilt that his news was the cause.

"Harry, if we're trapped here –!"

"We won't be if we move fast. Who's got wands?"

Ron viewed the crowd, noting that his wife didn't have one.

"Okay, all of you who haven't got wands need to attach yourself to somebody who has."

He was momentarily distracted from the remainder of Harry's direction by Mrs. Cattermole throwing her arms around his waist, gripping him fiercely. Hermione, as the fidgety little witch she was gave him a smirk that he recognized all too well. However, not wanting to give the poor Mrs. Cattermole any suspicions about her husband and Mafalda, he placed a reluctant arm around her shoulders.

Separating into two lifts, Ron was thankful that Mrs. Cattermole was willing to sit in silence Rn, who had seen the situation in the atrium already, was apprehensive about the scene they might find.

"Level Eight, atrium."

The doors slid open to reveal a mass sealing of all exits, just as Ron had suspected.

"Harry! What are we going to –?"

"STOP!"

Ron's head jerked around in shock and horror as everyone's attention turned to the much taller but still outlawed Harry.

"Follow me," he was whispering and, with a sinking feeling that whatever his plan was, it wouldn't work, Ron, with his plus one, followed numbly after.

"What's up, Albert?"

Ron wasn't breathing.

"This lot needs to leave before you seal the exits."

"We've been told to seal all exits and not let anyone –"

"_Are you contradicting me?_"

Mrs. Cattermole jumped about a foot in the air. Even Ron was startled. "Would you like me to have your family tree examined like I had Dirk Cresswell's?"

"Sorry!" the man, to Ron's amazement, was recoiling. "I didn't mean nothing, Albert, but I thought … I thought they were in for questioning and …"

"Their blood is pure. Purer than many of yours I daresay. Off you go."

As everyone began to leave, the woman on his arm was still pulling him along, towards the fireplaces – what would she do when she found out?

"Mary!"

The woman looked around so Ron did as well. The vomiting man from earlier – the _real_ Reg Cattermole was hurrying towards them. As she disengaged herself, Ron swore. Then all hell broke loose.

"Hey! What's going on? What is this?"

"Seal the exit! SEAL IT!"

Yaxley was running forward, the balding wizard was moving in, and crowds around the atrium were approaching the bedlam. In a bizarre turn of events, Harry, with his nearly pan sized hand, socked the bald wizard in the face with enough power to send him Willis.

"He's been helping muggle-borns escape, Yaxley!"

As everyone began shouting at each other, Ron could only think about getting the frightened woman next to him to safety. Knowing that if he left her husband would find a way to follow, he grabbed her hand and yanked her none-too-gently into a fireplace. After spinning rapidly, they were suddenly shot from at toilet at the other end. The moment they were out, Mary fisted her hands into the front of his robes.

"What's going on?"

"Nothing, you have to leave!"

Ron noticed in his peripherals Harry and Hermione flying from a toilet behind him, to his relief.

"Reg, I don't understand!" She was attempting to grab his hands.

"Let go, I'm not your husband, you've got to go home!"

Without warning, Yaxley was there, and Ron broke free of the woman in a panic as Harry grabbed his arm.

"LET'S GO!"

Then they were going, and Mary Cattermole had still been tugging on his hand, and he was half in the bathroom, half being yanked by the force of apparition. There was a searing pain attacking his arm, but he couldn't scream. All he was aware of was a vague scream. Everything was fading – everything but the pain – and it was taking more and more effort to stay conscious.

Then Ron had thumped to the ground, sending his mind spinning with the sharp sting, knocking the wind out of him. The effort was too great now, and he let everything fade.


	23. Splinched

**AN: This chapter is still Sept. 2nd - the first part of it takes place just after the last chapter, and the second part of it just takes place a little later in the day.**

**Reviewers, you are heaven sent. Continue reviewing PLEASE. **

**Sorry it's continuing to take me ages and ages to update. Crossing my fingers that next chapter is a little quicker in coming.**

Spinning on the spot, Hermione felt the familiar tug in her stomach with relief. However, it was short lived as she felt a strange pressure at her feet. Looking down - a daunting task in itself while spinning swiftly through the air - she saw with horror Yaxley clinging to her shoe. Yelping, she began to kick, but swirling through a suffocating tube of apparation she couldn't get any momentum.

A door was suddenly in front of them - Grimmauld place and Hermione felt his hand loosening slightly. She realized that he thought they were stopping, and she knew then, with a pang of remorse, that they could never go back there. Firing a revulsion jinx at him with an extreme amount of effort, she watched him fall, careening to the ground in front of the house - within the bounds of the protective barrier.

Knowing she had mere seconds to change their course, she reeled through a list of secluded areas - _any_ that might conceal a tent -

With a jerk in her stomach again, they had suddenly switched directions and were shooting towards the forest of the Quidditch World Cup - appropriate considering the tent they'd be staying in.

Hermione grunted as she landed on the hard forest floor and winced when her hand slammed against the sharper end of a small twig. Eyes squeezed closed, she stayed in that position for a moment longer, before a low moan gave her a cause to open them.

The last thing she'd been expecting was the bloody scene that greeted her when she did. Ron's face, laying next to hers and growing rapidly more like his own as the polyjuice potion wore off, was gray. Beneath it, dark rivulets of some liquid that Hermione realized with jolt was blood were spreading across the leafy ground leaving a foreboding puddle.

_No. Not Ron. Let him be ok._

Hermione's thoughts were spinning as her fingers fluttered over the expanse of blood. One spot, in particular, caught her eye - his sleeve was completely drenched in the black, sticky mess.

_Oh please, Merlin, no, no, no, he has to be Ok._

With plunging horror, Hermione brushed her finger along it and felt a sickening depression beneath them. She realized what had happened.

"What's happened to him?"

It was as though Harry could read her thoughts.

"Splinched," she replied tersely and, with all the brute strength of the panicked, she tore open Ron's shirt. Buttons popped and rolled to the ground, but she was mostly concerned with slicing open the sleeve. The wound was worse than she'd expected – or perhaps only looked that way since his entire arm was a deep red. The hole in his arm looked eerie and wrong and was still spurting blood. Swallowing bile, she, with all the authority she could muster, commanded, "Harry, quickly, in my bag, there's a small bottle labeled 'Essence of Dittany.'"

"Bag – right."

Meanwhile, Hermione had bunched up what remained of Ron's Ministry uniform robes and was pressing it tightly to the wound. She could feel the blood absorbing rapidly and feared what would happen if it continued at this rate.

"Quickly!" she hissed at Harry. She began speaking soothing words to Ron whose eyes had begun rolling back into his sockets.

"He's fainted," she told Harry as he finally returned with the little brown bottle. "Unstopper it for me, Harry, my hands are shaking."

Harry did as she told him and passed it back to her. Removing the make-shift bandage, she poured three drops – actually probably an unnecessarily generous amount onto the open wound. She leaned away from the green cloud of smoke that followed, wincing, then looked earnestly at the resulting wound. She was relieved and a little surprised to see how much better it looked.

"Wow," Harry said, echoing her sentiment. As she explained rather hysterically to Harry what was going on, she began siphoning the blood from Ron's clothes and torso. Admittedly, once the excess gore had disappeared, the wound looked far more manageable. It was an effort to distract from the crushing blow of Yaxley's penetrating the Fidelius Charm, but looking at Harry's horrified expression, there was no hiding that it was very, very bad.

"Harry, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be stupid. It wasn't your fault. If anything it was mine."

Puzzled, Hermione watched as he withdrew something from the folds of his robe. As she recognized it, she gasped in revulsion. The last thing she had been expecting was Moody's glass eye.

"Umbridge had stuck it to her office door, to spy on people. I couldn't leave it there … but that's how they knew there were intruders."

She knew that he was right and opened her mouth to tell him so. However, it was just then that Ron let out a moan. His eyes cracked open, and Hermione's heart leapt.

"How d'you feel?" she murmured quietly, not wanting to disturb him.

"Lousy. Where are we?"

He sounded like himself again, which was comforting.

"In the woods where they held the Quidditch World Cup. I wanted somewhere enclosed, undercover, and this was – "

"…the first place you thought of."

Starting, Hermione looked back at Harry. His tone was slightly scathing, and she blushed. He was right – it _had_ been the first place she'd thought of, but it wasn't as though she'd had a great deal of time to sort it all out in her thoughts first.

"D'you reckon we should move on?" Ron asked then, and Hermione turned her full attention back to him. He was covered in a sweat, a little remaining blood, and was as white as a ghost. Literally. Moving on now could be devastating, weak as he was now, but Harry was the leader, so she turned to him.

"I dunno," Harry was saying, but as she watched him look at Ron with the same expression she had, she knew he was having similar thoughts.

"Let's stay here for now."

Relieved beyond words, Hermione jumped to her feet. If they were going to stay here, it would need to be as protected as possible.

Minutes later as the three sat inside, clutching mugs of steaming tea, Hermione couldn't stop glancing at Ron, if only to make sure he was still breathing. She half expected him to start convulsing or pass out or something equally as frightening.

"What d'you reckon happened to the Cattermoles?"

"With any luck, they'll have gotten away," she replied, beginning to worry about them herself. "As long as Mr. Cattermole had his wits about him, he'll have transported Mrs. Cattermole by side-along apparition and they'll be fleeing the country right now with their children. That's what Harry told her to do."

"Blimey, I hope they escaped."

Hermione glanced at him leaning back on those pillows, speaking so emphatically about a family he barely knew. He was so distraught about the man that he had been for less than a day and the wife and children that were not even his, but somehow had become, in his mind, his responsibility.

_I am in love with you_.

The thought came out of nowhere, but she realized it was true as she stared at this sweet, noble boy who she could have lost today. Deep down, Hermione had known for awhile that she was, since fifth year at least, but somehow she'd never allowed her thoughts to articulate it.

She remembered the night Arthur had been attacked and how she'd never felt someone else's fear, stress and worry so acutely. She thought about when they had been at the ministry and how, for a horrifying moment, she'd thought the brains from the tank were going to strangle him. She thought about the numb months of sixth year that he'd spent attached to Lavender and then about when he'd been poisoned and for hours all she could do was sit and cry, and how the first time he'd stirred had been when she'd spoken. She thought about the sweet memories of the rest of his stay in the hospital wing and the guilty thrill of triumph she'd felt when he made excuses not to see Lavender. She remembered the fight at the end of that year – how countless times he'd thrown himself between a potentially fatal curse and herself. She thought about Dumbledore's funeral and how she'd wanted nothing more than to curl up and hide by Ron's side forever.

All of those times she'd known that she loved him, but never had she wanted to tell him quite this badly.

"So, have you got it?"

Harry's voice cut across her thoughts like a cold slap in the face.

"Got – got what?"

"What did we just go through all that for? The locket! Where's the locket?"

_"You got it_?" Ron pushed himself up, fully alert now. "No one tells me anything! Blimey, you could have mentioned it!"

Hermione was glad that his irritating antics were there to keep her sentimental emotions grounded in reality.

"Well, we were running for our lives from the Death Eaters, weren't we?" She extracted the item in question and handed it to him.

"Here."

As fond as she was of Ron, for now the focus had to be on Horcruxes. As much as she hated thoughts like these, she wondered if there would ever be a time for them to focus on anything else. She wondered if there would ever be a spare moment to sort through what it meant that they sometimes held hands or what would have happened that day behind the presents, or why he hated Krum so much. Would there ever be a moment to figure out if any of it meant anything at all?

Later that night, Hermione reclined in the chair next to Ron's bed, flipping through "The Tales of Beetle, the Bard" for lack of a more stimulating activity to occupy her time. Ron was asleep and though his periodic snoring and muttering was entertaining, he'd been silent for quite some time now. She, for the fifth time or so, flipped open to the illustration of the Warlock's Hairy Heart and stared at it without actually taking in the revolting image.

"Hermione."

Jerking, she glanced at Ron, whose eyes were open and gazing at her.

"Oh – you're awake! What is it?"

"Thanks for mending me up. I don't reckon I'd still be kicking if it weren't for you."

She flushed, beaming at him. "You'd be just fine … and you wouldn't have had stewed mushrooms in a billy can for dinner."

Ron chuckled, then reached for her hand as though it were the most natural thing in the world. It still made her heart leap into her throat.

"No one was expecting a Hogwarts feast to spring up in the middle of the forest, Hermione. You did the best you could."

"But if only I'd prepared more with cooking – I don't know a –"

"Maybe if Harry and I had prepared more, you wouldn't have had to run yourself into the ground doing everything as usual."

"Ron."

"Yes?"

"It was so much easier studying for exams." Her voice broke in a sort of sob laugh.

Ron snorted in assent then, using their linked hands to pull himself into an upright position, "But why did you have to be so bloody brilliant at both?"

"So someone would be there to patch up the hole in your arm, of course," Hermione replied, using the hand that wasn't attached to Ron's to brush gently across the bandaged splinched area.

Ron gulped loudly, and he stared at her fingers, then at her face.

"No one does a better job," he whispered, but she was hardly listening to the actual words. She was lost in the eyes that were piercing hers.

"I'm glad you're ok, Ron," she half sighed in response and she could feel that this moment had already altered something between them. It felt surreal suspended in the tension, waiting … waiting for one of them to make a move. Her palm was resting on his arm, and suddenly his free hand shifted, tucking a curl behind her ear, letting it brush against her jaw before he pulled it back.

She shivered, and involuntarily, her eyes fluttered closed.

A sudden shifting outside made them both jump – up and away. The moment was gone, but there was doubt that something had changed. She had put down her walls for that moment, and so had he, and it filled her with a new sort of fear and excitement.

For now, she stood, ready to trade places with Harry for the watch.

She could, after all, use some fresh air.

**AN^2 ... so I have a feeling you might find a good deal of typos in this chapter. I had a tiny window of time to get it up, so I reread it a couple of times, but so sorry if there are any glaring or otherwise errors! **

**PLEASE review :D**


	24. Something broken

**AN: Hi guys! I am so sorry for the ridiculously long wait. These last few months have flown by at a light speed pace and this chapter has been slower in coming than any previously. I'm so sorry that it isn't a fluff chapter – it was remarkably difficult to write. **

**Anyway, as always, reviews, favorites and alerts are appreciated. (Especially reviews****). Have a lovely day!**

Camping had been a novelty when Ron was – oh – about seven. Currently, he couldn't fathom why. He sat huddled in the corner of the tent, listening to Harry and Hermione discuss more possible Horcrux locations, each of them less likely than the last.

Ron shivered and listened for a moment to the eerie, throbbing heartbeat of the heavy locket around his neck. He hated the bloody thing. Every time he put it on, his stomach felt hollowed out, his arm ached with a sharper pain, the air was colder, the room was damper and Hermione seemed more and more to fancy Harry. The hopeless chill emanating from it enveloped everything until there were four of them on this perverse game of hide and seek – he, Harry, Hermione and the cold.

He felt it as a separate entity demanding entrance to each facet of their lives. It was sluggish, thickening – suffocating his body and mind. It seeped through clothing and blankets. Sometimes he could imagine it jeering at them.

Ron was irritated all day, every day. Each morning he would tell himself to be better, help more and complain less. Each afternoon, the locket would go on, the cold would descend, Harry and Hermione would huddle together in their secret plans, and Ron's thoughts of optimism would be stashed away like one of Kreacher's treasures, any hint of positivity growing stale with disuse.

He craved the time spent alone with Hermione, but even those moments had become tainted. The once sweet conversations, filled with a thrilling magic that accompanied exploring new grounds together were digressing more frequently to address the same bitter topics. He might attempt to compliment her –

"You're a better cook every day," to which she would generally reply with some self-depreciating remark, "I'm a terrible cook. I can't even make these mushrooms edible." To which he would return with some justification – "Only because of the circumstances…" and easy as that, it circled back to their bleak living conditions.

They always ended with something like, "I thought he knew what he was doing."

"I know, Ron, I thought he had more of a plan too, I'll admit…"

"_More_ of a plan? He doesn't have anything that even resembles one!"

"We've got the locket, haven't we?"

"Oh come off it! That was chance, not a plan."

"True, but –"

And they would trail off as Harry would reenter the tent, looking between them warily.

Ron didn't give a rat's fart. All he could think about were the many times he'd finished watch only to find an occupied Harry and Hermione huddled together over piles of notes. He had no qualms, now, about what Harry might think of him and Hermione whispering together.

That night in Wales, Ron could feel his resentment building, choking him. The guilt in the back of his mind reprimanded him as he griped about Hermione's cooking, but he was too far gone. He couldn't shut his mouth, couldn't rein it in as he pushed and pushed.

"…you're supposed to be the best at magic!"

Her eyes flashed. He knew that he had broken her resolve as she jumped to her feet and found a perverse satisfaction in her losing control. Anything to break the tension filled monotony.

"_You_ can do the cooking tomorrow, Ron –"

Ron cringed – obviously he'd pushed too hard.

"_You _can find the ingredients and try and charm them into something worth eating, and I'll sit here and pull faces and moan and you can see how you – "

"Shut up!"

Ron whirled on Harry, protective of Hermione even after he'd pushed her this far.

"Shut up _now_!"

"How can you side with him –"

Ron had to smirk at this, realizing sooner than she had that Harry was not, in fact, siding with anyone and that something else was going on.

"He hardly ever does the cook –"

"Hermione, be quiet, I can hear someone!"

The other two fell silent, listening. Harry asked Hermione about the protective enchantments and her confidence in answering him was reassuring. Ron could hear it now – the stone scraping footsteps of at least four people. Finally, Hermione rustled around in her bag a bit before fishing out two extendable ears and throwing them over.

"_Accio salmon."_

Ron heard the wet sounds of someone catching a fish. His stomach growled. Listening, irritated, he vaguely recognized goblin tongue with indifference. He didn't care much, either, when the people started speaking again about goblins and a muggle-born named Ted.

"…then I met Dean, here, what, a few days ago, son?"

"Yeah."

Ron's stomach dropped. Dean Thomas – Ginny's ex, fellow Gryffindor, on the run. He met Hermione's wide eyes with alarm.

"Muggle-born, eh?"

"Not sure. My dad left my mum when I was a kid. I've got no proof he was a wizard, though."

He vaguely remembered hearing this, but the rest of the conversation was lost on him. He didn't know a Dirk and really couldn't stand goblins.

"So is Severus Snape, though he does not know it."

Instantly, he was riveted again.

"Didn't you hear about that, Ted? About the kids who tried to steal Gryffindor's sword out of Snape's office at Hogwarts?"

Ron's fists clenched and, as his heart plummeted, he had no doubt about who must have done it.

"Never heard a word. Not in the 'Prophet' was it?"

"Hardly. Griphook here told me, he heard about it from Bill Weasley who works for the bank. One of the kids who tried to take the sword was Bill's younger sister."

His worst fears confirmed, Ron's hand clenched around the extendable ear until his palms bled.

"She and a couple of friends got into Snape's office and smashed open the glass case where he was apparently keeping the sword. Snape caught them as they were trying to smuggle it down the staircase."

Ron listened as they contemplated the motive and fate of the sword. Merlin, who cared about the bloody sword? _What in Merlin's name happened to Ginny?_ So the sword was a fake? He was chuffed to hear it now please, someone …

"What happened to Ginny and the others? The ones who tried to steal it?"

Of course it was Dean who had asked, bless him.

"Oh, they were punished, and cruelly."

Ron's stomach was achingly empty, but he still felt as though he might vomit.

'They're okay, though? I mean, the Weasleys don't need any more of their kids injured, do they?"

Merlin – any_more?_ More than who? Charlie in Romania? Was something wrong with the twins?

"They suffered no serious injury as far as I am aware."

"Lucky for them. With Snape's track record I suppose we should just be glad they're still alive."

Ron's heart dropped again. So Ginny had barely escaped with her life and limbs? Small comfort! The subject had changed to speculation about whether or not Harry had killed Voldemort and why he was in hiding and the 'Quibbler' verses the 'Prophet' and those bleeding duffers were bloody barking _why wouldn't they finish talking about Ginny?_ Did none of them care? Their voices were fading and still, all they really knew was that she was alive. The moment the ears were back in their tent, Harry was the first to speak.

"Ginny – the sword…"

"I know!"

Hermione retrieved her bag, shoving her arm much deeper into it than looked natural. He couldn't fathom what she might be doing, but he knew better than to question her.

"Here … we … are."

As she pulled out the giant portrait of Phineus Nigellus, explaining what she would use it for, Ron opened his mouth, ready to comment on how brilliant she was when –"

"Unless he was asleep."

It was a simple comment from Harry, but for all intents and purposes, if felt as though he was, once again, sabotaging his efforts with her.

"Er – Phineus? Phineus Nigellus? Phineas Nigellus? Professor Black? Please could we talk to you? Please?"

"Please' always helps." Ron jumped when he heard the oily words.

"Obscuro!"

"What – how dare – what are –?"

"I'm very sorry, Professor Black, but it's a necessary precaution."

"Remove this foul addition at once! Remove it I say! You are ruining a great work of art! Where am I? What is going on?"

"Never mind where we are."

"Can that possibly be the elusive voice of Mr. Potter?"

"Maybe. We've got a couple of questions to ask you – about the sword of Gryffindor."

Ron, tired of the endless back and forth, waited with bated breath.

This ruddy painting had better tell them what had happened to his little sister or, so help him, he was going to curse it in whatever way paintings could feel most.

"Ah … yes, that silly girl acted most unwisely there –"

"Shut up about my sister."

It was the first time he'd spoken, and he did so without thought.

"Who else is there?" the cunning face turned back and forth. "Your tone displeases me! The girl and her friends were foolhardy in the extreme. Thieving from the headmaster."

Again with the conventions – the sword, Snape … he wanted them to get to the point! Ron's fists clenched as Nigellus revealed that Neville and Luna had been with Ginny, listening to the sickening man insult his friends.

"Never mind that! How did Snape punish Ginny, Neville and Luna?" Ron nodded in Harry's direction.

"_Professor_ Snape sent them into the Forbidden Forest, to do some work for the oaf, Hagrid."

Ron let this sink in. He thought of the few times he'd been in that forest – first year, when Voldemort himself had attacked Harry and they had found dead unicorns – second year, with the huge, gruesome spiders, fifth year when they had almost gotten killed by Hagrid's brother Grawp and then a group of angry centaurs … of all the places he could think of, this was one of the last he'd want Ginny to venture into.

"Snape might've thought that was a punishment," Harry was saying, "but Ginny, Neville and Luna probably had a good laugh with Hagrid. The Forbidden Forest … they've faced plenty worse than the Forbidden Forest, big deal!"

Ron's jaw dropped, staring at Harry with fierce, hot fury. His ears were ringing, his chest thumping. How dare he – how dare he act as though it were nothing that his baby sister was in the bloody forest of horror doing who knew what? How dare he pretend like he had ever cared?

He could hear vaguely the rest of the conversation, but blood was rushing through his ears so rapidly that it was all he could do not to pull a Harry, clutch his head and collapse. He distantly heard the vile man call Hermione simple and opened his mouth to contradict him but his teeth snapped back together. Harry had beaten him to it again. The heated flame in his chest flared brighter. The blood pumping through his veins was simultaneously in his brain, his neck, his head, his chest … the locket – livid heartbeats were everywhere, all he could hear, drowning out all other sounds. He stared darkly between the elated Harry and Hermione, beaming at each other like school children, two seconds away, in Ron's head, from snogging then and there.

They might as well get it over with.

His breaths were coming rapidly now, but neither of them seemed to notice. He had a sense that whatever was happening wasn't natural and wasn't himself – however, through the pain, he felt an electric charge, a power like he had never known.

_You don't have to take this anymore._

He wasn't sure where the voice had come from, but it was right. He'd had enough. With little effort to conceal the noise he made, he moved to lie on the lower bunk bed, partially as a means to withdraw himself and partially he felt as though he might spontaneously combust at any moment. Neither so much as glanced his way. The tiniest part of his brain was begging him to stop and think, but with one last burst of angry energy, he shoved it down.

"Yeah, you're right! So, would he have hidden the sword well away from Hogsmeade, then? What d'you reckon, Ron? Ron?"

"Oh, remembered me, have you?" His words had a hard, metallic taste that was foreign to his ears.

"What?"

Ron snorted, the puzzled look on Harry's face only provoking him further. He turned away, back to stare at the slats of the bed above him.

"You two carry on. Don't let me spoil your fun."

"What's the problem?"

_YOU!_ Ron wanted to shout.

"Problem? There's no problem. Not according to you, anyway."

"Well you've obviously got a problem. Spit it out, will you?"

_Fine, Potter._

There the strange voice was again, but he wasn't stopping now. He sat up, glaring icily at Harry.

"All right, I'll spit it out. Don't expect me to skip up and down the tent because there's some other damn thing we've got to find. Just add it to the list of stuff you don't know."

"I don't know? _I_ don't know?"

_Exactly right. He doesn't know anything._

Ron didn't pause again to wonder where the hissing words were coming from.

"It's not like I'm not having the time of my life here, you know, with my arm mangled and nothing to eat and freezing my backside off every night. I just hoped, you know, after we'd been running round a few weeks, we'd have achieved something." he said instead, putting as much venom into each word as possible. It didn't take much.

"Ron."

He ignored Hermione.

"I thought you knew what you'd signed up for."

"Yeah, I thought I did too."

"So what part of it isn't living up to your expectations? Did you think we'd be staying in five-star hotels? Finding a Horcrux every other day? Did you think you'd be back to Mummy by Christmas?"

He wasn't sure whether it was the patronizing words that fueled his hatred, or the fact that he recognized a grain of truth in them. Either way, he lost it.

"We thought you knew what you were doing! We thought Dumbledore had told you what to do, we thought you had a real plan!"

"Ron!"

Still, he paid her no mind. It was all he could do not to shout at her too.

"Well, sorry to let you down. I've been straight with you from the start, I told you everything Dumbledore told me. And in case you haven't noticed, we've found one Horcrux – "

"Yeah, and we're about as near getting rid of it as we are to finding the rest of them – nowhere effing near, in other words!"

"Take off the locket, Ron. Please take it off. You wouldn't be talking like this if you hadn't been wearing it all day."

"Yeah, he would. D'you think I haven't noticed the two of you whispering behind my back? D'you think I didn't guess you were thinking this stuff?"

"Harry, we weren't – "

Now Ron's anger was directed at her. "Don't lie! You said it too, you said you were disappointed, you said you'd thought he had a bit more to go on then – "

The person that would have hated himself for putting pain like that on Hermione's face was all but gone now – a stranger.

"I didn't say it like that – Harry, I didn't!"

She was sobbing now, of course she was, thinking her precious Harry might be upset with her.

"So why are you still here?" Harry's words were like darts.

"Search me."

"Go home then."

"Yeah, maybe I will!" The hatred propelled him forward, but Harry did not move. "Didn't you hear what they said about my sister? But you don't give a rat's fart, do you, it's only the Forbidden Forest, Harry, _I've-Faced-Worse_ Potter doesn't care what happens to her in here – well, I do, all right, giant spiders and mental stuff –"

"I was only saying – she was with the others, they were with Hagrid – "

"Yeah, I get it, you don't care! And what about the rest of my family, 'the Weasleys don't need another kid injured,' did you hear that?"

"Yeah, I – "

"Not bothered what it meant, though?"

"Ron! I don't think it means anything new has happened, anything we don't know about; think, Ron, Bill's already scarred, plenty of people must have seen that George has lost an ear by now, and you're supposed to be on your deathbed with spattergroit, I'm sure that's all he meant-" Hermione's words, meant to comfort did the opposite.

"Oh, you're sure, are you? Right then, well, I won't bother myself about them. It's all right for you two, isn't it, with your parents safely out of the way!" He should have regretted the words the moment they slipped from his mouth, but then –

_That's it. Keep going._

"My parents are _dead_!"

"And mine could be going the same way!"

"Then GO! Go back to them, pretend you've got over your spattergroit and Mummy'll be able to feed you up and – "

_How dare he …_

Hot blood coursed through his veins, and Ron was gone. A hand that was not his was moving for his pocket, ready to jerk his wand out of it and –

"Protego!"

He was forced backward, scowling darkly at Harry – scowling at the boy that he felt no connection to aside from the acidic loathing.

"Leave the Horcrux."

The hand that was no longer his tore the locket over his head and threw it with a vengeance onto a nearby chair.

He felt a whooshing sensation – simultaneously he became lighter and weaker … the strange force that had propelled him moments earlier was gone, leaving only the remnants of his vicious anger to settle in his gut, no longer fuelled by the strange courage he'd felt before.

"What are you doing?" he directed the question at Hermione. He had to get out there. His words sounded harsh and foreign, but he did not take them back.

"What do you mean?"

"Are you staying, or what?"

He could hear that his voice was cold and unfeeling, but everything was riding on this. Hermione could come with them. They would leave together – at present, it was all he wanted.

Or she could stay … stay with _him_, the boy who had previously been Ron's best friend.

"I … yes. Yes I'm staying."

The force of her words struck him deeply, one by one, until the rage had dissipated and all that was left was a heavy, lead weight in his very center.

She must have read the expression on his face as she continued hurriedly, "Ron, we said we'd go with Harry. We said we'd help."

"I get it. You choose him." The hatred that had been simmering for so long was too much now, and Ron spun on his heel and strode out of the tent. This hatred formed tears, burning a trail up his throat.

"Ron, no, please, come back, come back!"

He heard her words, but his feet propelled him forward and out the tent flap, into the night. Without stopping to think for even a moment, he spun on the spot.

In the darkness, he could still hear her calling his name.


	25. Shattering

**AN: Hey guys **** I tried to get this updated within the month which obviously did not work out too well. Either way, here is the next chapter. So sorry that it's a downer. Also, it will be covering quite a bit of material rather quickly – these chapters break my heart and, to be frank, I wanted to get through them as rapidly as possible. **

**Also, I'm thinking of doing another flashback soon. Yay or nay? Should I just discontinue those? Or format them differently? **

**Finally, THANK YOU … a million times over. And as usual, please review!**

Hermione didn't stop crying that night. It surprised her. Normally she would have gone into shock first – crying later. But the tears just kept coming. Sometimes she wept softly, silent tears streaming down her face. Sometimes it was with great, heaving sobs that wracked her from head to toe. Sometimes, it was a mere whimper – but they never stopped.

_Are you staying or what?_

Cowardice was not in her nature. Fleeing was not in her nature. Of course she was staying.

_I get it. You choose him. _

No, no, no, no, Merlin, never in a thousand years would Hermione choose anyone over Ron. Just her integrity.

Integrity _or_ Ron? How dare he put her in that position?

She cried because he had. He had dared her to pick her honor or him – she cried because that was not something the Ron she knew would have done.

She cried because some of what he said had rung true and the guilt was eating her up inside. She cried because their situation was hopeless. Their chances of success were next to nothing.

Part of the time she cried because Moody was dead, Hogwarts was Hell, her parents didn't know she existed and she had never learned to cook. She cried because life was grey – cold and grey.

Those things only flitted through her brain for brief instances. She cried because each of those reasons had been there before, but they'd been bearable because he was there.

Mostly, she cried because he was gone.

By the time the light filtered through the fabric of the tent again, she felt like a cracker – brittle and dry, salty from tears. Numb, numb, numb.

She didn't speak at all that morning. She was afraid to make any sound for fear of drowning out his returning footsteps.

_He's not coming back._

_ He might._

Crunch…

She looked up anxiously. Nothing.

_He's not coming back._

The rain would flood them out soon, but she knew there must be more to finish before they could leave. But they had to leave. And once they did, she knew that his choice would be final. To leave them – to leave her.

They disapparated.

There was a crack, a tug in her gut and a painful thudding in her chest.

_It's over. He's gone. He's gone._

_ He can't come back. _

_ He won't come back._

_ Ron is gone. _

She thought she was dried out, but the moment her feet hit the ground, she could feel the knot in her throat. Striding over to a nearby boulder, she crumpled onto it, burying her head in her arms and letting the tears come again. Harry could take care of the enchantments.

She was hollow – drowned in a heavy feeling that spelled the end. She had only ever felt anywhere close to that twice before – once in third year when they had stopped speaking to her on the grounds of turning in the firebolt and Ron's accusations against Crookshanks and then in sixth year, when Ron had given her the cold shoulder and then started dating Lavender.

Even then, though, the ache had not compared. Both of those times she had known that he'd come back. Besides, she had had the comfort of knowing that he was still only a staircase away. But mostly, she just knew that he'd come back. He was her best friend.

This time, she knew that he never would.

She wondered where he had gone. Harry mentioned in passing one day that he had not reappeared on the Maurader's Map. Would he have gone home? She didn't think so. She hated that she couldn't stop thinking about it. She wished she didn't care.

Time fled. Weeks – gone, surrendered to a total immersion in memories of Ron. Finally, unable to stand it any longer, she threw herself back into studying the "Tales of Beedle, the Bard." She put everything she had into making meals and the monotony of such a dreary nothingness.

She was determined not to fall apart, even if, in reality, she knew she already had.

There was no feeling she hated more than uselessness. Unfortunately, these empty tasks were just that. She was dying for a purpose and, one day as she poured over the children's book for the tenth time that day, she thought she might have found one. The symbol was oddly familiar, yet not one that she recognized from any Runes class or text book. She thought it could have been on Mr. Lovegood's necklace at the wedding …

The mystery thrilled her. It was a conflict – a challenge. Suddenly she was back in Hogwarts, mixing potions to exactness, perfecting a complicated spell – her element.

"Harry, could you help me with something?"

She showed him the mark and, when he finally recognized it and explained what Victor had claimed it was she felt a tinge of guilt at her lack of concern over the fact that it was a potentially evil symbol. It was a puzzle. She was seized by the insatiable need to solve it.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"I've been thinking … I … I want to go to Godric's Hollow."

She glanced up at him. She had had the similar thought quite often in the recent past, wondering if Dumbledore had perhaps left the sword of Gryffindor in Godric's Hollow. Bathilda Bagshot, she recalled, lived there. The old scholar might at least know something that would lead them closer to it. As she explained this to Harry, though, she could tell that he had other motives. To be honest, she didn't mind. All she cared about was that they had a purpose. And a destination. She was ready to get out of the tent.

Preparing for the event was enough for Hermione. The idea of actually going was exciting, but it also scared her. For now, she was content meticulously readying for every possible conflict. The jaunts out to practice apparating for hours at a time, the piles of notes littering the table again, the spread of supplies they had – it all was distracting enough that she could forget the hollow ache in her chest that should never be there. She could forget that this was the Christmas season and that it was supposed to be wonderful.

When they arrived at Godric's Hollow weeks later, her heart did not stop twisting even after the unpleasant feeling of apparation had faded. She was terrified, insisting on the invisibility cloak, trying to wipe away their footsteps. When Harry asked that they walk uncovered, she grudgingly agreed, seeing how much he needed it.

They walked the charming, lit up street in silence. There was a small church with soft music drifting from inside. She wondered why, then stopped in her tracks.

"Harry. I think it's Christmas Eve."

"Is it?"

"I'm sure it is."

She glanced over at the chapel again, thinking of the Christmas carols that she hadn't gotten to sing this year. Her eyebrows scrunched as she looked a little closer, noticing shadowy shapes in rows shrouded in the darkness behind the little building.

"They'll be in there, won't they? Your mum and dad? I can see the graveyard behind it."

His expression grew taut. Reaching for his hand, she gently tugged him along, leading the way to where they knew his parents' grave would be. When she caught sight of the statue and pointed out to him, she could feel herself getting emotional. There was a family – blissfully unaware of their impending, premature deaths. Here it was, Christmas Eve, and her family was a continent away, blissfully unaware of their only daughter. There was no Ron. No Hogwarts. She was struck by the overwhelming sense of tragedy.

Hermione had never been more grateful than in that moment for the boy standing next to her. He had always been there – more so than any other person, even Ron. Even if she never cared for him the same way, she loved him deeply and felt, for a small moment, the weight of what he had on his shoulders.

"C'mon."

She followed Harry wordlessly back to the cemetery. The singing was enough to make the tears overflow. In that church, she heard the spark of human hope. People doing what people should.

Her musings were interrupted by the creaking of the kissing gate. Startled, she was reminded again that they should probably not be there and the dangers associated with their presence. They traversed the snow covered tombstones quietly after that.

When they discovered the graves of Dumbledore's mother and sister, Hermione could tell how torn Harry was. She pursued the next ones with renewed determination to find his family.

After thinking she had found them then realizing that it was a different name altogether, she made to move on. Before she could, she noticed something familiar.

"Harry. Come back here a moment."

There it was – there was the funny symbol on a grave right in front of her face. She brushed the snow away, showing Harry the mark. He seemed terse and uninterested, but she was focused on the name. "Ignotus Peverall."

Even after Harry walked away, she studied the dates, committing them to memory. Finally, she moved on, searching again for the real reason they had come.

"Harry, they're here … right here."

She gazed down at the beautiful marble headstone feeling once more the unwelcome lump in her throat and the appreciation for young lives lost. Calculating the dates in her head, 1960-1981, she cringed to think that they had only lived 21 years. She would be their age in just over three years.

_The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death_.

Harry was beside her now, reading. "The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death? Isn't that a Death Eater idea? Why is that there?"

The panic was laced throughout his voice. It broke Hermione's heart to think how little he truly knew of his parents and how many of those that should have been like parental figures had let him down in his life.

"It doesn't mean defeating death in the way the Death Eaters mean it, harry. It means … you know … living beyond death. Living after death." She didn't much care for the quote either, but Harry didn't need to believe that anyone who might have had something to do with their memories would have inscribed some piece of Voldemort mentality onto their headstone.

She looked over at him and bit her lip as she watched his tears overflow. Looking away, she took his hand instead. They sat there for a long time, silent tears streaking down their faces. Pretty soon, Harry began to inhale deeply, and she knew that he was trying to regain control. She thought about leaving nothing there and how, had it been her parents, she would not have been able to do it. There had to be some way to mark that he had come here – to show in some way that he had found them.

Without thinking twice, Hermione moved her wand through the brisk air, conjuring up a wreath of white roses. It made her a bit nervous, not knowing if he would agree with her sentiment, but he caught it, knelt down, and laid it reverently below their names. He brushed the engravings with his fingertips one last time and stood back up, swiping at his eyes.

She was not at all surprised when he slid an arm around her shoulders. She held onto his waist, and together they made their way back towards the church.

They crunched their way back to the kissing gate, the whole while Hermione trying to resist the overwhelming nerves in her gut. Every noise was a death eater. Every twig was Voldemort, coming personally to finish them off.

When a bush in the corner of her eye shook, she glanced rapidly over, exhaling in relief as it fell still again. They kept moving. She heard another rustle, and glanced over. Was she mistaken, or was that a flash of a hand?

She shook her head and stepped again, ignoring the strange, burning feeling in her side that she associated with someone staring at her. The bush shook once more.

"Harry, stop."

"What's wrong?"

"There's someone there. Someone watching us."

Hermione's stomach was in knots. Bathilda's garden was overgrown and her house smelled, to be polite about it. She could see through invisibility cloaks, apparently knew exactly who they were and still had not spoken a word to them. Her face was eerie – almost transparent – and her eyes were alight with some cunning malice that was simultaneously too old and too young for the shriveled woman.

"Harry, I'm not sure about this," Hermione murmured the moment the witch had disappeared into her sitting room.

"Look at the size of her; I think we could overpower her if we had to. Listen, I should have told you, I knew she wasn't all there. Muriel called her gaga."

Something struck Hermione like a dissonant note. The strange gleam in her eye was some level of crazy; there was no doubting it. However, it was not the vague gaze of the aged. This woman reeked of evil.

A sudden, croaking hiss came from the other room. The voice made Hermione jump. How sick was this woman to have made a noise like that? Harry's reassurance did nothing to calm her down.

As they looked around the next room, she could see that Harry was curious, looking eagerly around for clues. Hermione was also looking around, but differently than Harry had been. She noticed the layers of dust and mildew on seemingly every surface of the home. She noticed the smell that worsened as they crossed the threshold into this room – that of rotting meat. Something was dead here. Were it not for Bathilda walking around before them, Hermione would have guessed that it was a human by the untended state of the home.

Harry asked the woman about the man in a picture – Gregorovitch, frustrated and still anxious for information about whatever name it was that he had had some bizarre dream or vision about. But Hermione was barely listening. She had begun to shake, an icy chill creeping into her chest.

When Bathilda refused to tell them why they had come, Hermione had to clench her fists to keep from outright convulsing. Her lip was bleeding from the pressure in which she was biting down on it.

The woman made a jerky gesture with her head, glancing stiffly behind her.

"You want us to leave?"

She did it again, pointing at Harry, herself and the ceiling.

He voiced the thoughts that Hermione was afraid were right.

"Oh right. Hermione, I think she wants me to go upstairs with her."

Every possible warning flag had gone off in Hermione's head.

"All right," she agreed through her chattering teeth. "Let's go."

Bathilda shook her head, and Hermione's heart sank. She didn't need Harry to explain what the woman wanted when she repeated the gesture, pointing at only herself and Harry.

"Why?"

"Maybe Dumbledore told her to give the sword to me, and only to me?"

"Do you really think she knows who you are?"

She willed him to pick up on her feelings, to insist that they get out as soon as they could. But he was the leader. And for some reason, she felt a strong sense that she should not make any moves openly contesting the batty Bathilda Bagshot.

"Yes. I think she does."

"Well, okay, then, but be quick, Harry."

The last thing Hermione heard for a long moment was their footsteps creaking up the stairs. She hugged herself, holding herself together, trying in vain to contain her quaking. The more she looked around, the more she got the odd feeling that this house was that of someone dead.

Silence stretched into an endless series of time. Hermione waited, unable to make herself move or make any noise. A sudden flash of color caught her eye. She recognized the glossy book cover immediately. Knowing Harry would want it, she forced herself to walk two steps to the side table in the corner and snatch up the copy of "The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore." There was a note attached.

_Dear Batty, Thanks for your - _

_CRASH_

Hermione's heart stopped, hearing the giant clatter of what sounded like a heavy object smashing into wood.

"Harry?"

Shoving the book into her bag, she heard another smash. Already on her way to the stairs, she pulled her wand out, heart thudding erratically. Running, she finally made it to the top of the stairs and had barely a moment to register the sickening mass of flesh and floral print on the floor, and, in the corner, a reptilian pile – Harry's legs sticking out from beneath it when, quick as lightning, the creature had changed direction, lunging for her.

As she dived out of the way, she fired a curse, ducking as it ricocheted off the walls and shattered the window. The night air filled the room, but Hermione had barely a thought to spare the cold as the snake expanded to twice the size she thought possible, raising itself taller and wider than she was, a thick mass of quivering coils and fangs.

It lunged again, but Hermione's DA prepared head was ready, and she shot back another curse, aiming right into its open mouth. There was a bang, and the snake rose ungracefully into the air, hissing, spitting, curling around itself.

"He's coming! Hermione, he's coming!"

The snake smashed into whatever solid items were left in the room, heavy and clanging. Hermione felt the need to vomit, frozen to the spot, processing what Harry had screamed her way. A split second before she had a chance to leap across the bed for him, Harry had lunged, yanking her violently by the waist, catching her ankle on the metal sides. She heard a shriek that was apart from herself as he jumped, taking her with him. It was all in slow motion, watching the snake strike again, feeling like a rag doll as Harry jerked her towards the window.

"Confringo!" she cried, and the force of it was everywhere, rebounding from the ceiling to the floorboards and back again. There was shattering glass and Harry was shouting in pain – or she was – and then they were apparating and all she could feel was the arm constricted around her waist.


	26. Missing Parts

**AN: Guys …. I love you so much. PLUS, still need feedback on if or how or when I should continue flashback chapters. Yay? Nay? Anyway, enjoy!**

Ron didn't even register where he was going until he'd already landed. The image on the back of his eyelids became clear before he had opened his eyes – he had apparated back to the forest where the World Cup was held. Sopping wet, Ron swiped furiously at the raindrops pouring down his face and neck.

"What've I done?"

"Dunno, mate, but my money would be on something illegal."

Ron froze, several choice swear words rushing through his mind. His hand was already on his wand as he turned.

Five men jeered back at him of all shapes and sizes – literally. He reckoned they were wizards since their wands were out, but, if he wasn't mistaken, there was something very goblin-esque about their malicious expressions.

"What're you doing out here on your own, ginger?"

The tallest one was inching toward him with a dangerous grin stretched across his ugly face.

"What'm I … well, you see, my family and I were looking to camp, and since we'd got a pretty good spot for the world cup, we figured we might be able to find another spot…"

"What kind of pathetic duffers do you take us for? We're not buying that yarn!"

Looking at their faces, Ron thought that some of them were buying it after all. Two of them looked rather hesitant.

"What's your name, boy?"

"Stan Shunpike." The words left his mouth before he'd even had chance to think about it.

The smartest of the five's eyebrows scrunched. "Stan … but that's the bloke … well I reckon I know the name from somewhere…"

Ron was already inching away.

"Rowley! Grab the kid!"

The biggest latched onto Ron, pulling his arms uncomfortably behind him.

"That's unnecessary, mate," Ron told them, trying to sound as benign as possible. "I'm just Stan trying to find a place to camp with my family."

"Shut up!" one of the others growled. "Rowley, take his wand!"

Ron's heart sunk. He had been hoping that they would forget. This made things a bit more complicated. Rowley grabbed his wand and tossed it to one of the others.

A million possibilities of escape flitted through his head, none of which would work. But this lot was dumber than most. That much was obvious. Ron did not out muscle or out smart them, but he thought that there must be a way to outwit them.

"He looks school age!" the smartest one – the leader, Ron thought, was muttering. "Plus he's a flaming red, just like that famous blood traitor family."

An icy fist clenched at Ron's heart. They knew his family. He was a goner.

"Nah, he's too big to be some kid. Besides, weren't there about twelve of them? If he was a part of that family wouldn't he be with someone else?"

"You're so stupid! He's just tall! Why would Stan Shunpike be out here by himself?"  
>"You heard the man! He's just looking for a tent spot."<p>

The two men not holding Ron and not fighting were turned away, looking around for clues. One of them was muttering complaints about the rain. The time was now. Ron stepped hard on his captor's foot. Like he predicted, the burly man loosened his grip enough to let him spin around and punch him in the nose. Before anyone had time to react to the cry of pain, Ron snatched the man's wand and turned to the one still holding his own.

"Expelliarmus!" he shouted, and his wand came hurdling towards him. So many drills as Keeper had taught him well, and he snatched it easily out of the air. Without hesitating, he spun on the spot, trying not to slip on the wet leaves beneath him, picturing wildly the river bank that he had left Harry and Hermione at.

The first thing Ron registered when he hit the ground was a searing pain on his right hand. Cursing loudly, he inspected it to find two raw fingers where the nail should have been. The red, fleshy substance looked eerie and naked without the cover.

Looking around, he cursed again. None of the surrounding area seemed at all familiar. He was sure he was still in Wales – but that was all he knew. Freezing cold from all the perspiration, Ron ignored the shivers shaking his frame and focused instead on finding any sort of foliage that he could press against his now bleeding fingers. Two leaves stuck well, and, ignoring the overwhelming humiliation and trepidation, Ron pictured the portion of riverbank as clearly as he could in his head before disapparating.

He wasn't surprised to find, aside from several deep footprints that he ached to think were his, nothing there. Knowing that the enchantments were up, he called for both of them, walking around, searching for any sign of them.

Something told him, though, even after hours of traipsing around the river bank, that the enchantments surrounding the tent were not what were keeping him from finding Harry and Hermione. He felt a cold assurance that they were gone.

With nowhere to go, nothing to do and no idea of how he could possibly face anyone he loved, only one thing was going through his mind.

He had lost them forever.

Ron fell to his knees, ignoring the fact that his hair and clothes and the ground beneath him were all sopping wet and freezing cold. He curled up as tightly as he could and sobbed, feeling the knife that cut deeply and meant, plain and simple, that his two best friends hated him now. His best mate was gone. The love of his life was gone.

The hunger that gnawed at his gut was now nothing but a taunting voice, reminding him that he deserved this misery. He deserved every ounce of it.

Time slipped by, but Ron hardly noticed. He could not have said how long he lay there, curled like a child, rocking back and forth, replaying every cruel word that had sprung from his mouth. It all seemed so foolish now. He had been so foolish.

Numbly, he stood. His knees almost gave beneath him, and, looking around him, he realized that he must have fallen asleep. It was day time again and he still had not eaten. Where could he go? He couldn't live the same way they had been – he didn't have a bedroll or tent. He couldn't go home – the pain seared his chest as he thought of what his dad would say – worse, what his mum would say if they knew what he had done. He thought of what Ginny's reaction might be – Fred or George's – and felt ill.

Charlie was out of the question obviously, but what about Bill? He didn't live at the Burrow, and he wasn't one to go on about mistakes. Ron had visited Shell Cottage once before and knew it to be large enough for at least one guest. He hated to do it, but it might be his only option.

Picturing the house on the beach, Ron held up his wand and turned.

He landed on the doorstep. After regaining his balance, it took him a full five minutes before mustering the courage necessary to ring the doorbell.

Fleur flung the door open only moments later.

"Oh!" her eyes widened. "Ronald!"

She took in his sodden, bedraggled appearance and he could see fear flash in her expression.

"What eez eet? What eez ze matter?"

Ron flushed. "Er, it's nothing, really, I'm fine. Is Bill home?"

"No – 'ee 'ad some zings to do weeth ze Order. 'ee should be 'ome soon eef you would like to wait."

"Yeah … that'd be great, if I could. I'm sorry for the trouble – "

Fleur's expression changed from anxious to business-like in an instant.

"No, do not apologise at all! Zees eez what families are for, no? 'ow about you go and get cleaned up. I can wash zees clothes for you. While you wait for zem to dry, you can borrow some of Bill's zings."

Ron eyed this woman – his sister-in-law – with new found respect. Caring for others was obviously within her realm of expertise, and he appreciated that she did not push him at all for information. With many thanks, Ron made his way to the loo.

By the time Ron was cleaned and dressed, he could smell something heavenly cooking from the kitchen. His stomach growled fiercely, while his conscience continued to berate him. He had no right to eat well while Harry and Hermione were still on the run, fulfilling a duty. He had no right to eat well after what he had done.

"I do not know why; 'ee just showed up 'ere."

Ron sidled closer to the door, listening to Fleur speak. Bill had come home.

"Sopping wet?"

"Oui, and looking 'alf crazed."

Clearing his throat, Ron made his way into the kitchen. Looking a bit guilty, Bill and Fleur smiled at him.

"'ow was ze shower?" Fleur inquired brightly.

"Brilliant, thanks so much."

She nodded and busied herself again with the dinner. Bill stood next to her, stirring something in a pan.

"So what brings you here, Ron?"

Trust Bill to get right to the heart of the problem.

Ron's flushed crimson – maroon, he corrected himself dryly. "Erm … it's a bit of a long story. Could we maybe sit down?"

Fleur, gracefully making an excuse about laundry to do, slid out of the room. Ron was relieved. He had no desire to face them both.

Bill wiped his hands, charmed the dinner to continue cooking on its own, and took the seat next to Ron's.

"All right little brother. Let's have it."

Ron opened his mouth, but something about the prospect of admitting what he had done brought a familiar burn to the back of his throat. Merlin, he didn't want to cry.

"I left them." The words seared like ripping off a bandage. It was supposed to hurt less that way, but it always smarted for a while regardless.

"Harry and Hermione?"

Ron nodded wordlessly.

"Why? Are they all right?"

"'s far as I know. I … I walked out on them."

Bill's eyebrows shot up and, with a great sigh, he leaned back in his seat.

"Ok. Start from the beginning."

And so he did. Leaving out any classified information, Ron detailed for him their journey, not sparing himself in the slightest. He explained how miserable of a companion he'd been and how the locket had affected him worse than the others. He told Bill about hearing from Nigellus about Ginny and Neville and Luna and, finally, about leaving.

"She screamed my name." his voice was a mere whisper, choking its way from his throbbing throat. "I wasn't thinking. I just disapparated. And now I've lost her – them. I've lost my two best mates."

Bill's expression was one that Ron hoped never to see again. Disappointment, anger and pity all battled for dominance in his features.

"Why did you come here, then? Why didn't you go back to them?"

"I tried!" his voice broke. "Merlin, I tried." He explained about the group of men that had captured him, ("Snatchers," Bill told him, "Groups out trying to round up illegals on the run.") and then how he'd splinched and been too late to find them again.

"It's over," he insisted.

"Stop it." Bill's words were rough. "You've been best friends for too long for it to just be over now. You can stay with us for awhile – I don't see any reason for the family to know about this –" Ron shot him an appreciative nod. "And meanwhile, you can help Fleur around the house. She's alone too often these days. It'll be good for her to have some company."

"Thank you. And of course – anything you need me to do."

The next few weeks passed tortuously slow, but Ron would never have complained. He wished more than anything to be back with Harry and Hermione. He wished more than anything that he had never left to begin with. Living with three square meals (delicious, French meals, mind you) a day, a warm bed and constant news of his family's safety had never been less appealing.

He found himself listening to the radio station, "Potterwatch," any chance he could. He felt certain that should anything happen to Harry or Hermione, they would have news of it.

Each morning, he, Bill and Fleur would sit down together to eat breakfast and read the Daily Prophet. It carried mostly fabricated lies about the brilliance of Voldemort's new regimen, but it at least kept them clued in as to what their enemy's movements were like.

"That taboo is causing loads of trouble for too many of our men," Bill sighed one morning, glancing at the headline, "Possible leader of rebel force narrowly escapes: Kingsley Shacklebolt a known danger."

"Taboo?"

"Right – for anyone who says 'You-Know-Who's' name aloud. It takes the death eaters right to them."

Ron felt the color drain from his face. "Merlin's bloody beard."

Bill and Fleur, both alarmed, glanced anxiously over at him.

"What eez eet?"

"Harry and Hermione don't know about the taboo."

Ron listened harder after that day for the moment that they would be captured, but there was still no news of Harry or Hermione in the following weeks. The weather was getting colder and colder, though, and all he could think of were Harry and Hermione freezing their tails off in a shabby old tent.

He should be there with them.

Ron missed them both more than he cared to think about. He missed Harry's leadership and decision making. He missed their jokes and their side long glances when Hermione would act too much like a girl. He missed the one person who always thought he was hilarious and he missed being there to help Harry. He used to resent, on occasion, that he always would thanklessly have Harry's back at all times. Now that he couldn't, there was no role that he would have traded for it.

He missed Hermione, too. No matter what hellish circumstances the world threw at them, they had been together. They were a team. After years of waiting, something was finally growing between them – something sweet and strange and new. But he had to off and be a total git and leave it all behind. Even if he ever saw her again – even if she learned to forgive him, he feared that she would never be able to look at him the same.

He worried for them every moment. His heart began to physically ache with the constant anxiety. He imagined them starving or fighting. Sometimes he wondered if they would become a couple now that he was out of the picture. The idea still filled him with that strange, hot anger. However, that only made him feel guiltier – they deserved each other.

_Because she was falling in love with you, too_…

The thought filled him with a flicker of hope and then, immediately after, a boat load of despair. He could have made something of whatever it was that was blossoming between them. But he'd thrown it all away.

Either way, they were useless now. He had walked out. He had thrown it away.

Still, even if they hated him for the rest of their lives, Ron just needed to make sure they were Ok.

Even if they hated him for the rest of their lives, Ron had to see them again.


	27. Looking up

**AN : I can't thank you all enough for favorites, follows and, of course, REVIEWS **** This chapter is a bit shorter than they have been, but the next update will be soon in coming! You are all sweeter than sun. Here you go. **

Hermione sat, alone, staring blankly into the space that Harry had just vacated, taking her wand with him. She felt herself beginning to quake, felt the tears that made her face feel like everything else – damp and exhausted.

She was never meant to be a Madame Pomfrey. And yet here she had spent all night healing a snake wound, a horcrux burn, and trying in vain to deal with a Harry who had, for all intents and purposes, seemed completely possessed.

She was never meant to be the strongest source of wizarding magic in their group – Harry was. And yet here she was, sitting, wandless, while Harry depended on hers, trying to exercise a command over spells that they both knew would not be nearly as effective. And it was her fault that his wand was broken.

She was never supposed to be the one Harry was trying to avoid, and yet she had seen it in his face, clear as day, that he had wanted nothing more than to get away from her. She had tried to right the wrong she had done with that final spell, but she feared that he would never forgive her.

She was never supposed to have to do it all without Ron by her side.

The telltale lump burned its way up her chest and throat. How did she still have more tears? Hadn't this bloody journey had its fill with her misery yet? Hadn't it taken everything she had already?

"I hate you Ron Weasley," she muttered, and surprised even herself. Who knew that the most predominant thought in her head, after everything that had happened in the last twenty four hours, was one of flaming resentment?

Thoughts were everywhere, battling for attention. Her first instinct was to pull out a quill pen and ink, a roll of parchment, and figure out everything on paper. Still feeling shaken and jittery, needing to make sure that Harry was all right, she resisted the urge to move closer, to watch over him, to make absolutely certain that they were going to be fine, just fine.

Instead, she squared her shoulders and did the most courageous thing she could think of. She went to bed.

But sleep did not bring any comfort, nor did the next day's events. One of Hermione's greatest heroes was not who she'd always thought he was. Her brain screamed reminders that Rita Skeeter was the author after all, someone who could manipulate the most benign evidence into a lurid tale.

However, this was not benign evidence. This was proof sitting right before their nose, Dumbledore's words searing into her brain like a brand. Still, she would not be the voice believing or supporting anything written by that Skeeter woman, material gained so glaringly obviously by questionable means.

The whole mess made her ill, and she was downright frightened when she saw Harry's reaction. After the night of thrashing and cursing and shouting and writhing around and now the way his teeth were gritted and his veins were bulging, she felt the sinking sensation that she had lost even him.

"Look what he asked from me, Hermione! Risk your life, Harry! And again! And again! And don't expect me to explain everything, just trust me blindly, trust that I know what I'm doing, trust me even though I don't trust you! Never the whole truth! Never!"

Hermione knew the reason behind every ounce of hurt in his words. Dumbledore had been the only parental figure with the possible exception of Sirius that had treated Harry as an equal. Harry loved, trusted and would have done anything for the headmaster and this was how he was repaid. The issue had nothing to do with the mission or the risks they'd taken or the hell they'd been through. Harry felt betrayed not because of what had been asked from him but because of what he had never been told. She could only imagine how he felt as each of the allies that were had been constants – Sirius, Remus and now Ron and Dumbledore – slowly let him down, one by one.

"He loved you." It was all she could say for certain about Dumbledore anymore. Nothing else was sure, but this was. "I know he loved you."

"I don't know who he loved, Hermione, but it was never me. This isn't love, the mess he's left me in. He shared a damn sight more of what he was really thinking with Gellert Grindelwald than he ever shared with me."

She had no words for this, but his bitter opinion would not change her mind. Dumbledore had loved him. She chanted this in her head over and over again, if only for a single truth to hold to when everything else had crumbled beneath them and left her floundering.

"Thanks for the tea. I'll finish the watch. You get back in the warm."

Hermione felt the sting of rejection in his words and felt a flash of anger. For one moment she resented that he would dismiss her solely because of the mistakes of others in letting him down – how could he so easily brush her off when she was the only one who had stayed?

In the next second, though, she remembered the expression on his face – so lost, so forlorn and lonely and betrayed and she understood. Merlin, she understood. Rather than allowing any bitterness to make headway, something she knew could only make this journey more unendurable, she wordlessly walked back towards the tent, brushing his hair back from his eyes as she went, noting as he leaned into her touch, knowing that whether he showed it or not, she still meant something to him. She was still too afraid to do anything more.

He was strong, but if only because of knowing what she felt herself, Hermione could see how badly Harry needed affection. For now, such a simple touch would have to do, but more than anything she wanted to pull him into her arms like a child and hold him until he his carefully crafted walls broke down. Then maybe they could work toward mending.

Instead of attempting to bridge the widening valley between them, though, Hermione walked briskly into the kitchen, letting her hands flutter uselessly for a moment, pretending that there might be something useful that she could busy herself with. Resignation alighted, then, and she slid to the floor, holding her knees to her chest. She sat there, rocking and whimpering for an endless amount of hours that passed in a blurry mess similar, she knew, to what Harry was feeling as he sat, alone in the cold.

When she knew that it was coming time to take over the watch, she stood, brushing off her clothes and readying herself to slough off any tendency that might burden Harry in any way, layering on the supportive façade that was the only defense she had against the oppressive cold.

Now she sat in the tent entrance, freezing and somehow, even after a day of doing nothing, still feeling a total lack of energy. Summoning her hand bag, she rummaged around in the depths of it looking for an extra pair of socks. Her hand ghosted across a book and her heart jumped. Focusing so much on "the Tales of Beetle, the Bard," she had forgotten about the rest of the books that she had brought with them.

Tentatively for reasons she didn't understand, she pulled out her well-worn copy of "A History of Magic." Cracking open the first page, she felt the ghost of a smile for the first time in a long time. She had a vivid memory of a bushy-haired eleven year old with a distinct lack of social grace and abundance of enthusiasm, perusing this text book first, reading of a world that should have felt like fantasy but instead had felt like home.

Tears trickled down her face, but she realized with a bit of a start that they were happy tears, if a bit nostalgic. When had magic ceased seeming magical, she wondered. When had childish elation given way to such hopelessness everywhere she looked?

_Crack_.

Hermione froze, hearing the sharp snap of a twig. Book marking her page with her finger, she leaned forward, peering intently into the dark. There was another scuffling sound. Listening intently for a moment, she reminded herself that their enchantments were performed well. No one would be able to see or hear them, even if the possible human presence was unnerving. Hermione forced herself to turn her eyes back towards the book that was an absolute symbol of everything that was her childhood.

A branch moved to her right. She read of the Yule Ball and remembered the yelling match she had engaged in with Ron that had been aggravating and exhilarating and new.

Someone's footsteps seemed to come closer. She poured over tales of the Chamber of Secrets, shivering to remember the day she had realized which creature resided there.

Leaves crunched not far off, and Hermione refused to acknowledge that there might be danger, losing herself in the sense of security that was almost overwhelming as she turned each page, remembering and aching and smiling and missing everything about how things once were.

Periodically, she would glance back to the table and make sure the sneakoscope was still. Once or twice she thought she caught a glimpse of a figure and shivered, feeling a thrill of fear but turning back to her book anyway.

This refusal to acknowledge real issues in lieu of a book was one that was so familiar that it couldn't help but put Hermione in a better mood. However, when Harry suggested leaving early, she agreed eagerly, telling him about what she had possibly seen and possibly heard.

When they disapparated and Hermione looked around to see the familiar forest that they had landed in – the Forest of Dean, where she had come with her parents years before, it didn't even make her sad. Again, she simply felt a rush of fondness for the past and, bizarrely, a tinge of hope for the future.

She could tell that Harry was slightly suspicious of her cheery mood (cheery meaning her eyes were not chronically red rimmed and she didn't spend hours staring wordlessly into space), but she didn't care. Something was different about today – she could feel it.

"Tea?" she smiled, and Harry's eyebrows rose as he nodded.

Humming under her breath, she made up a pot with a grin that she could not have explained. Harry was worried about her, but he needn't have been. Her very limbs shivered with the strange feeling. She was the least superstitious person she knew, and yet she felt like their fortunes were about to look up.

Squeezing Harry's hand as he passed her to begin the watch, she crawled over to her bunk and pulled out the journal that she took a moment each day to scribble a monitor of their progress.

_December 28, 1997, the Forest of Dean_

_ Today feels different. It started when I was reading "A History of Magic." I thought of all the things the wizarding world has triumphed over before now and thought about how we'd triumph again. I can feel it. I can feel that after everything we've gone through these weeks, something good is about to happen. Maybe it won't be huge, but this strange bit of hope is enough for me._

_ I'm still worried about Harry. I can see that he doesn't believe in what we're doing anymore. I can relate – only about half a day ago, neither did I. But the wizarding world, war and all, is my world. _

_Voldemort and his vile slew of death eaters have another thing coming if they think we're not going to fight, kicking and screaming, holding on tooth and nail for that world. _

_Well, it's time to turn in. Good night._

_-Hermione Granger_

Rolling over, she fell instantly into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	28. the Yule Ball

**AN: This is a flashback from fourth year, beginning solidly on Christmas, but with some background before that as well. It ends sometime mid to late February. Hopefully you enjoy the break from all the sadness, and feedback for this chapter and what you think of the continued formatting this way is especially appreciated!**

**Hope you enjoy **

Ron had no idea how badly he'd wanted to go with Hermione to the Yule Ball until she'd turned him down. Even then, he had no idea what it was that made him so desperate to know who had asked her. And so angry.

His initial reaction had been incredulous, something that obviously made her cross for reasons he would never understand. He just couldn't imagine that any other bloke would ask her seeing as she spent nearly all of her time with him and Harry. Besides, any other boy at Hogwarts should know by now that one of them would take her, right?

Ron smiled when, on Christmas morning, he woke up to a sizeable pile of parcels on the foot of his bed. He wasted no time in tearing them open – a decent lot, he noted – and was equally as satisfied with the extravagant breakfast.

"Hermione," he mumbled around a mouthful of scrambled eggs, "Who asked you to the ball?"

She only smirked, bending back over her bowl of porridge.

When, as they sat around the common room soon after, Ron caught sight of gold chain hanging around her neck, he bristled.

"What's this?" he scoffed, lifting it up. "A Christmas present from your new boyfriend?"

Rolling her eyes, she snatched it back from him. "Merlin, Ron, my mum and dad gave me that for my birthday. I'm so pleased you noticed."

Ron was not dissuaded in the least. He sprung not-so-subtle attempts to figure out who had asked her three more times before lunch. Distracted by the food, he forgot about it until after, when he, Harry, Ginny and his brothers made their way out to the grounds for a snow ball fight.

"I think I'll watch," Hermione smiled in that way that was still unfamiliar with her straight teeth and mischievous edge.

"Oh come off it, Hermione," he'd argued, but she had insisted, and so they made teams of two on three.

The time flew. When Hermione stood up he assumed that she had finally caved and wanted to join them. He was surprised when, instead, she said, "Well I'm off to get ready for the ball."

Glancing at his watch, he balked. It was only five.

"What, you need three hours?"

Hermione sighed heavily, shaking her head and turning to leave.

_Splat_.

The force of George's snow ball almost knocked him off his feet, but Ron was still preoccupied, regaining his footing and shouting in a last ditch attempt, "Who're you going with?"

He wanted to curse when she only waved and disappeared.

Ginny followed her up after another hour, and they played with even teams until seven before acknowledging the difficulty in snow ball throwing when you couldn't feel your face or fingers.

"A whole hour before the ball … what're we going to do for all that time?" he grumbled as they trudged back to the castle.

"Get ready," Fred replied in a simpering tone that was almost too accurate of a depiction of Hermione's.

Back in their dormitory, the five boys pulled on their dress robes grimly. Ron had almost forgotten the atrocity waiting for him, but opening the box, he felt his stomach drop.

Inspecting his reflection did nothing to aid in the feeling of hopelessness.

"Blimey," Dean murmured, and Seamus held in a snicker. The only truly sympathetic expression was Neville's, and it was him who suggested the severing charm for the lace.

"That's brilliant," Ron nodded, but the improvements came at the cost of severely frayed edges.

Resigning himself to the night ahead, Ron couldn't help but looking around as they made their way through the common room and to the entrance hall, waiting for Hermione to appear with her mystery man.

He barely registered when Padma, his _date_, he remembered with a grimace, greeted him. She looked pretty, he noted, but her tone was, if possible, even less enthusiastic than his own. It didn't bother him. He was still craning his neck to find Hermione.

"Where _is_ Hermione?"

He didn't catch the angry glare that Padma shot his way.

He felt panicky when Harry and Padma left them, but grudgingly remembered to offer Padma his arm as they made their way into the Great Hall.

"So …"

Ron glanced at his date, puzzled "So what?"

She sighed. "Never mind."

He shrugged, still searching the room for any glimpse of Hermione. He was beginning to think that he'd been right all along – she really hadn't gotten a date and she was probably sulking alone in her room – when the doors to the Great Hall opened once more.

Ron scanned the group, snorting to see the pained expression plastered on Harry's face verses the positively glowing one on Parvati's. Cedric and Cho looked blissful as well, while Roger Davies seemed to have been hit by something decidedly solid, gawping at Fleur like a git. Poor bloke. He looked, finally, at Krum and …

He barely registered Padma's sharp intake of breath, barely registered the sudden tittering or appreciative murmurs. All Ron saw was the stunning witch beside him. It was Hermione – his Hermione, but different. Her eyes sparkled, her smile was dazzling, her hair was glossy and her dress robes floated down, clinging to her figure. Ron couldn't tear his eyes away. His face and neck were heating, and when he finally looked back at Padma, she was shooting him a much too knowing look.

"What?"

"Are you going to spend the _whole_ night ogling Granger?"

Ron's face felt hotter before.

"I don't know what you mean." With a violent tug, he yanked her towards the food.

Something unfamiliar was beginning in his gut – not a particularly pleasant sensation, but one that gave Ron a whooshing rush of adrenaline. It was hot and rapid and flooding his body with fierce anger. He tried to put a finger on it, but the closest emotion he could think of was that he'd felt toward Harry when he'd first found out about the Triwizard Tournament.

"Jealousy?" he muttered under his breath.

"Pardon?"

Disgruntled, Ron glanced again at Padma, who was looking at him expectantly. "Oh … erm, nothing."

She sighed again, and Ron returned to the inferno that was consuming any semblance of reasonable thoughts.

Jealousy. He was jealous of Krum. But that didn't make sense – maybe he was angrier that Hermione got to spend so much time talking to his favorite Quidditch hero? No. That would not make sense considering the things Ron were fantasizing about – most of them involving acts of violence toward said Quidditch hero.

He watched through dinner as Hermione inched closer to Krum, sickened to hear that tinkling laugh that didn't belong to the git. He glared when he saw the prat's hand fall on her arm, scowled when she didn't push it away.

The most startling thing of all was that, looking at the large expanse of food varieties available on the quaint little menu, Ron realized that his appetite had completely vanished. He felt bitter and angry and now wasn't eating, all thanks to bloody Krum.

When they began to dance, Ron was mortified to feel a bizarre knot in his throat that he associated with tears. But he was not going to cry – he didn't even know what could have possessed him to feel like he might. There was just something about the way Krum's arm twined around her back, pulling her up against his chest that made Ron ache to be in the same position.

_What is wrong with you?_

Much later that evening, as Ron made his way sullenly to the portrait hole, he found thoughts of the confrontation he'd had with Hermione overshadowing even the conversation that he'd overheard between Hagrid and Maxime. His words, though they had spurted from his mouth without much previous thought at all, now seemed justified, and his arguments felt entirely valid. Krum was using Hermione. That's what was fueling his anger.

When he finally climbed into the common room, Hermione was the only one left downstairs. He was distraught to see that her eyes were red rimmed.

"What has the blighter done, now?" he asked, and blanched when she spun on him, eyes flashing.

"_Blighter?_ What has _he _done? Why … why you arrogant pig!" Ron stepped back, feeling as though she'd punched him. "All he did was everything possible to be a perfect gentleman! _You_ ruined everything!"

"I ruined everything? Are you bleeding insane? I was the only one who seemed to care that you were being used!"

"I'm sorry that it's so ludicrous for you to think that someone might have asked me out just because they wanted to, Ron, but believe it or not, he did! I'm sorry that you couldn't imagine someone wanting to be around me not for my connections to Harry or for my ability to solve a puzzle but just because of _who I am_, but HE DOES!"

"Don't be stupid! If I thought no one wanted to be around you, then why do you think I spend so. Much. Bloody. Time. With. YOU?"

They were both bellowing and panting, and Ron was struck again by how attractive she was. Merlin, what was happening to him?

"You tell me! I haven't got the slightest idea!"

"That's beside the point! The point is, you shouldn't have been with Krum!"

"No? Then who should I have gone with, Ron? Who would have measured up to YOUR standards?"

"Anyone but _him_!"

"Anyone but the man that, up until minutes ago, you were pressing for an autograph? Oh, that's rich. He's your hero, action figure and all, but only until he pays someone else some attention?"

"That's not what this is about! He's too old! And he's using you and everything about him feels wrong!"

"I never knew you could be so sentimental, honestly. What has gotten into you? Have you gone barking?"

"You shouldn't have gone with Krum!"

"I _wanted_ to go with him, Ron, and it's not as though someone else was going to ask. It's not as though anyone else _ever asks _bushy haired Hermione Granger to a Hogsmeade weekend or to the Yule Ball!"

"I ASKED YOU TO THE YULE BALL!"

"You asked me after being turned down by _Fleur Delacour_, another CHAMPION THAT WAS NOT HARRY, might I add! You were completely desperate. I wasn't even your plan B – I was your plan letter that's used when you've exhausted your store of the alphabet. And I'd already accepted the invitation and thank my lucky stars for that!"

The red in his face and ears was getting out of hand. "She … I … it wasn't my fault! But I wanted to go with _you_, Hermione! Still, you ended up with Mr. 'Herm-oh-ninny' for a date! If he really cared, wouldn't he make an effort to pronounce your name correctly?"

"He is from Bulgaria, Ron, honestly! He's just learning the language!"

"Well he's doing a stinking job of it!"

The portrait hole swung open, revealing a tired Harry.

"Well, if you don't like it, you know what the solution is, don't you?"

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Next time there's a ball, ask me before someone else does, and not as a last resort!"

She was gone in the next instant, striding away towards the girls' dormitories. Ron watched her go, mouth on the floor, stuttering. When Harry shot him a sympathetic smile, he could read easily how ridiculous Harry thought he was being.

The next morning, Harry went down to breakfast before either of them, so Ron was stuck walking with her. He could already feel his face heating just thinking about what had happened the previous night and opted against any snide comments that would bring it back up.

Something told him that he would be the one humiliated.

There was no doubt about it, though, he'd gone mental. When he caught sight of the Krum action figure he'd kept neatly on his end table since the Quidditch Cup, he tore it apart before he could even think about it. Through the rest of the week, he would find himself staring at Hermione – her lips, her eyes, her maddeningly curly hair … other things that still made him blush every time he caught himself.

During their first Care of Magical Creatures lesson without Hagrid, Ron found himself smiling at Hermione's blatant elation when she approached the unicorn. That Saturday, when they went to Hogsmeade, the fierce protectiveness that he felt when Rita Skeeter shot her that threatening look took him off guard.

The night of February the twenty third arrived and Ron learned what Harry would have to retrieve from underwater. At first he was confused that both he and Hermione had been chosen. He figured they just couldn't pick which of them was closer, which seemed to make sense…

When he realized, late the next morning the real reason Hermione had been taken with him, nothing short of the nonchalance, almost impatience, with which Hermione treated Krum could have curbed his fury.

And when Skeeter did, indeed, get her revenge with a despicable article about Hermione's "many love interests," later in the month he was confused to find that, false as he knew the accusations were, he felt jealous of both Krum and Harry.

Ron shook his head, sighing.

"Mental. Absolutely mental."


	29. On the Mend

**AN: This chapter is dedicated to the anonymous or guest reviewers that I can't thank personally. You are wonderful, and one guest in particular made my day last chapter with his/her kind words. **

**And to all the favoriters, followers, reviewers, and readers in general. You are so wonderful. **

Ron was begging for her forgiveness, insisting that he'd never meant to feed her only copy of "A History of Magic," to Voldemort's snake. She ignored him, still angry, but he wouldn't leave her alone. She didn't want him to.

"Please, Hermione! Hermione. Hermione! _Hermione!_"

She woke with a start, sitting ramrod straight, remembering instantly where they were.

"What's wrong? Harry? Are you all right?"

Her eyes were still blinking away the remains of sleep, and she could barely make out his solid figure standing before her.

"It's Ok, everything's fine. More than fine. I'm great."

Her brow creased – those were words she wasn't expecting to hear.

"There's someone here."

Immediately, she tensed. A million thoughts went through her head, the most prevalent being that Harry must have been imperiused and had now led a dark wizard right to them. What could she do?

"What do you mean – who…?" She looked around, the remainder of the bleariness fading from her eyes, sure that she could not be seeing the person she thought she was. _He couldn't be._ And yet, he was.

Numbly, she stood, not registering the blanket that fell to her feet or the puddle that was spreading beneath him. All she knew was that he couldn't be real – not when she had felt with such surety that she would never lay eyes on him again. She had to touch him, to feel him, solid, underneath her hands.

Springing forward, she didn't know whether it was to clutch him fiercely to her or to hurt him in every way physically possible.

Her body opted for the latter, and she couldn't say she was surprised. Then again she was so numb that she was not much of anything.

She began punching every inch of him that she could get her hands on.

"Ouch! Ow! Geroff!"

These cowardly whimperings only made her sick, and she continued her assault, brain and fists connected only by the fury pulsing through them. White hot fury.

"What the – Hermione! OW!"

"You complete _arse_ Ronald Weasley!"

Her hands never stopped, and she didn't want them to. He continued to shrink away, which continued to make her angry, and she continued to hit him like she was worried that if she stopped, the world would end.

Or he would disappear again.

Sometimes in her weakest moments, it felt like kind of the same thing.

"You." She socked his arm. "Crawl." She elbowed his stomach. "Back." Her slap rang across his ear and cheek. "Here." She kicked his shin. "After." His other shin. "Weeks." His shoulder. "And." His chest. "Weeks!" she slapped him again.

And this wasn't enough anymore, she could feel her own weakness, her own inadequacy at conveying just how deeply he had cut her.

She wanted simultaneously to hex him into bits and to charm him to stay right where he was – here, with her, forever.

_"Where's my wand?"_

She spun on Harry – when he held it protectively, instincts that were purely feral took over, bitter, territorial, possessive. How dare he?

"Protego!"

There was no time to be humiliated when Harry's shield charm performed with her wand knocked her down, bottom first, onto the floor. She jumped back up, advancing immediately on Harry.

"Hermione! Calm –"

"I will not calm down!" Adrenaline coursed through each word. "Give me back my wand. _Give it back to me."_

It was so necessary, _imperative_ that Ron somehow feel some portion of the pain he had inflicted on her. He had to understand. She wanted him to know.

"Hermione, will you please – "

"Don't you tell me what to do, Harry Potter! Don't you dare!"

She lunged again, desperate. She felt frenzied, but her words were cold and measured when she said, "Give it back now."

Then she remembered the real target of her anger – her loathing.

"And YOU!"

She pointed so that _he_ could be left with no doubt as to whom she was referring. She was both satisfied and seething to see him attempt to retreat. Filthy coward.

"I came running after you!" These words were unplanned – raw, dangerous and vulnerable. "I called you! I begged you to come back!" She wanted to make him uncomfortable. She wanted to see him squirm. He had to know.

"I know."

_No, you don't._

"Hermione, I'm sorry. I'm really –"

"Oh, you're sorry!"

The cackle that followed was detached from herself, a sound erupting from the deepest fissure of her chest, one filled to the brim with all of the emotions she had stored away since he'd left.

"You come back after weeks – _weeks_ – and you think it's all going to be all right if you just say _sorry?_"

"Well what else can I say?" These words, shouted from Ron, filled her with a different rush – familiar and right. She _wanted _him to fight back – attacking him while he simply cringed and shied away made her want to scream and shake him into being some semblance of the Ron she used to know.

"Oh I don't know! Rack your brains, Ron, that should only take a couple of seconds."

It was sick the pleasure that she still took in saying his name again – speaking to him, having him here, in person.

"Hermione. He just saved my –"

"I don't care! I don't care what he's done! Weeks and weeks, we could have been _dead_ for all he knew –" and there it was, the worst part of his betrayal. Leaving them, apparently not caring enough to stick around and see whether they lived or died.

"I knew you weren't dead!" Ron was suddenly moving closer – too close for comfort. Too close for her to move away. Close enough that she could feel his warmth, inhale the sweetness of his scent, count and give up counting his infinite freckles. "Harry's all over the _Prophet_, and over the radio. They're looking for you everywhere, all these rumors and mental stories, I knew I'd hear straight off if you were dead. You don't know what it's been like –"

She bristled, finally finding the resolve to step away, to put distance between them. "What it's been like for _you?_" her mouth opened and closed, wordless, unable to articulate the extent of her fury. He took advantage of her momentary silence, interjecting loudly, "I wanted to come back the minute I'd disapparated, but I walked straight into a gang of Snatchers, Hermione, and I couldn't go anywhere!"

She could not stand to hear his excuses, would not stand around and listen to him reason away the thoroughness in which he'd torn out her heart, even if the way he said her name made her heart ache, pleading and yearning for something … her, maybe. Even if her heart leapt at those five small words:

_I wanted to come back_.

She had to believe it was a lie. Throwing herself into the nearby chair, her limbs wound so tightly together that water couldn't have seeped through the spaces. Hermione feared that were she to give even a millimeter, she would spring back up and not be able to restrain herself, this time, from throwing her arms around his neck. She longed for it, imagining just how it would feel to press her face into her broad chest again. Once, it had been a wall, and the world could have shattered around her, but she was safe pressed there.

But he had been her world. And he _had_ shattered.

This was not the Ron that used to hold her when she so much as sniffled, or gripped her hand reassuringly as she approached her breaking point. This was certainly not the Ron that had seemed so close to loving her the same way she loved him.

No, this was the Ron that, ignoring her pathetic pleas, had left.

She hated him, she told herself, but it didn't stop her from paying the utmost attention to every detail of his story.

_He tried to come back!_

_ But he didn't._

_ He wanted to!_

_ But he didn't._

_ He did, though. He's right here._

But those thought processes were dangerous, and she hid them behind her scathing replies, her words as she described Godric's Hollow fueling her resentment. Repeating what they had gone through aloud made it all worse somehow.

"Hermione, Ron just saved my life."

She refused to acknowledge this, knowing she was much safer behind her carefully crafted mask of stone. She would not let him see behind it again. She would not let him break her again.

"One thing I would like to know, though. How exactly did you find us tonight? That's important. Once we know, we'll be able to make sure we're not visited by anyone else we don't want to see."

She couldn't look him in the eye, knowing the pain she would see there, knowing that it would only weaken her resolve.

_Stone. You're stone._

"This."

Hermione eyed the deluminator warily, not becoming any less confused as he detailed the pains he had taken to find them.

_He came back._

_ He left you._

_ He regrets it._

_ I don't care._

"Well I saw the doe first, obviously."

"You saw what?"

It was easier to listen when Harry was doing the majority of the talking: _much_ easier, since he was presenting a puzzle to be solved.

When Ron took over, describing Harry's jumping into the pond –

"With the locket still on?"

And the fear when he did not resurface, she felt the too-familiar tenderness in her gut and viciously beat it down. She could not feel such things again – he had betrayed her, and she would never let herself succumb to that pain.

"Harry told the locket to open…"

Weeks apart did not change how easily she could see that he was hiding something.

"…and Ron stabbed it with the sword."

It was too easy to see that this was not all – that they were purposefully skirting around something. In awe of the events she had slept so blissfully through, her next words came out hushed.

"And … and it went? Just like that?"

"Well, it … it screamed."

She held the shell of a locket in her palms, quivering, and feeling that whatever had really happened would have made her sick. She was almost glad that they hadn't shared it with her. Ron was still pale and red eyed, she noted. What had the bit of Voldemort done to him? Now that she looked closer, his expression was haunted. She had no way to know whether it was from the locket or from what had happened since he'd left. Maybe a mixture of both.

Her fear for his sake was inching too close to those unspeakable feelings so, without another word, she stuffed it into her bag and climbed back into bed.

She waited with baited breath for the inevitable. Sure enough, it wasn't long before she heard them whispering to each other.

"About the best you could hope for, I think."

"Yeah. Could have been worse. Remember those birds she set on me?  
>In spite of herself, Hermione could feel a small smile inching onto her face.<p>

"I still haven't ruled it out," she said sharply, then burrowed deeper into her covers. Her voice, even to herself, sounded weak and more facetious than threatening.

Ron had taken too much with him – a great chunk of her heart. The pain had been all encompassing – disgustingly debilitating and absolutely inexcusable for a witch as independent as she claimed to be – wanted to be.

It dawned on her, suddenly, that she was thinking of the pain as past tense. It took her another moment to realize why. The pain had completely vanished.

And when, later that night, she slid out of bed if only because she felt more relaxed staring at his sleeping figure than she had in weeks, she didn't even bother to try and explain it away. She just let herself inhale it all – his scent and his soft snores and, best of all, the rise and fall of his chest as he breathed slowly in and out.

"I love you, Ron. So much," she murmured, and crawled back into her bed, falling asleep to the sound of both of her boys sleeping mere feet away.


	30. Fairly Obvious

**AN: Back to Ron's POV **** Sorry for all the smiles, but it sure is good to have him back and cheerful. Hope you all enjoy. Also, thanks so much for the favorites, alerts and reviews. They are so appreciated. **

When Ron awoke, he stayed absolutely still for a long moment. Something was different. His bed felt less comfortable, he was shivering from cold and, more than anything, he felt as though something gray and heavy had been removed from his chest.

It all came back to him, then, and he had to resist letting out a great whoop of elation. He was back.

He climbed off of his bunk and, noting that the other two were still asleep, put on a pot of tea. Pulling out a chair, he sat to drink in the presence of the two people he cared about more than most anyone in the world.

It still ached sharply that he had not been there for all of the things they had faced. He shuddered to think about what would have happened if they had acted one moment too late or been just a bit too slow…

Hermione had been completely right – the journey to them had not been nearly as difficult as the one they had been put through and he didn't think he would ever forgive himself for letting them go through it without him. But he was here now. And he would do everything in his power to be worthy of their friendship and forgiveness.

There was a rustle from Hermione's bed and he wasted no time in readying three cups and casting a heating charm over them. Then he frowned in a manner that he hoped befitted a repentant soul and silently drank his own.

"Is this for me?"

Hermione's tone was cold and she still wouldn't meet his eyes. He nodded then went back to his sorrowful introspection. He couldn't tell her that he was sorry, but he would show her.

When Harry joined them a few minutes later, he took one sip and exclaimed, "This is brilliant, Hermione! Best tea you've made."

Ron could see Hermione's shoulders tense up, and wisely stayed silent.

"I didn't make it," she said through gritted teeth, and the resulting silence was uncomfortable.

They sat quietly for another few moments before Hermione, sighing tersely, stood to pull out the book Dumbledore had given her. Ron and Harry exchanged a slightly frightened, slightly amused glance, but she glared between them and they hurriedly went back to their tea.

The resulting sipping seemed to ring in Ron's ear, unnaturally loud. Harry began drumming his fingers on the table, but Hermione's expression quelled him instantly.

Harry cleared his throat, and Ron and Hermione both looked to him eagerly.

"I think we're just about out of water," he said, staring obviously at Ron.

"I'm not the one who used it up making tea," Hermione said, not looking up from what she was reading.

"You're right – I reckon I should be the one to go get more. Harry, mind showing me where it is?"

He didn't need telling twice. The two of them had to resist running out the door.

"Well it's definitely warmer out here than in there," said Ron quietly the moment they entered the frigid air. Harry chuckled, and the sound made the awkwardness that had dominated the morning's events seem more bearable. Still, even if it took ages to regain her forgiveness, being here, with them, was a rhythm that he was comfortable with. An easy back-and-forth with Harry, a distant, angry Hermione – it was nothing he wasn't familiar with.

He followed Harry over piles of trampled leaves to the river that was maybe a half a mile away from the tent as the latter filled him in on the events of the several weeks he'd been away.

"So you just followed her?"

"Well old ladies are hardly characters of easy suspect."

"You forgetting Umbridge, mate?"

They sniggered. "I think we both knew something was wrong, but we were so desperate for a lead. Hermione was much more cautious than I was, of course. I reckon she's still kicking herself for breaking my wand, but she's the only reason we made it out of there alive."

Ron smiled fondly, and by the knowing look that Harry shot him, he knew that his opinion on Hermione's usefulness in any situation was not a mystery.

"She does tend to keep a good handle on things," he replied in a would-be nonchalant manner. Harry rolled his eyes.

"You know, she won't stay mad at you for much longer."

Ron's eyebrows shot into his hairline.

"No, I'm sure you're right. Secretly, she was right chuffed to see me back."

Harry smiled, but it didn't stop him from insisting, "It's true, Ron. I know it seems bad, the glaring and anger and everything, but you gone – I mean, she was worse. It was much worse."

Ron felt undeniably cheery at these words – first, that something in his arrival had actually improved the situation and, second, that Hermione might actually prefer him there, even under all the ferocity. He felt guilty, too, at the reminder of what he had put them through. The curiosity was eating at him, and it only took a moment more before he caved.

"What _was_ she like?"

Harry paused for a moment. "Erm … it's a bit hard to describe. At first she was just a mess – she cried a lot and I did all the security charms. Then it was different. She did all of the things she normally would – acting like she normally would – but it was all empty. With both of us. We just made food and sat around making pathetic small talk then moved on. Everything just felt really hopeless."

"I understand." They moved on to a patch of thick foliage, searching for any mushrooms they could find. "It was Christmas and everything, but I was completely depressed. It felt all wrong. And now I feel like I've thrown away my chances with her."

Harry clapped him on the shoulder. "She wanted you back just as much as you wanted to be back."

Ron couldn't hold back his grin. "Someone helped us. Someone sent that doe. Someone's on our side. One horcrux down, mate."

"Right … but where could the others be?"

"Well … he left the locket in that cave with Sirius's brother, so it would make sense to leave it with another one of his servants?"

"I guess that's true. But I can't think of a place that Malfoy or Lestrange would be hiding some token of Voldemort's soul."

"Knockturn Alley?"

The exchange felt repetitive – none of the locations actually seemed likely and neither of them was coming up with any new ideas, but it was still charged with a kind of excited optimism. He could not bring himself to feel dejected when he was here, they'd destroyed the locket, and Hermione's anger wasn't nearly as bad as it could have been.

"Someone helped us," Ron found himself repeating, and couldn't help wondering who it was. He was nursing a silly fancy that it might have been Dumbledore but was afraid to voice it for fear of what Harry would say.

"I don't think we're going to find any more."

Ron glanced over at Harry with his basket of mushrooms.

"I reckon you're right … back to the tent?"

They both made faces at this suggestion but, finding no valid excuse to stay away any longer, made sure they were frowning respectably and made their way back.

When they found Hermione had fallen asleep at the table, both were immediately speaking in whispers, neither wanting to set off the dragon. Harry went to the mouth of the tent to take watch, and Ron, silently as possible, sat in the chair across from her.

"I have something I wanted to tell you," he breathed in a tone barely audible. He waited for almost a full minute before continuing. "Being here, with you, even as angry as you are with me, is the happiest I've been in ages. I … I reckon I love you. And I've never been sorrier for anything in my life than walking out. Leaving you was the dumbest decision I've ever made, and that's saying something. But I tried to come back … I would never have stopped trying."

He fell silent, content to simply watch her. The way her eyelids fluttered and one curl stuck to her lips – her pink, pink lips. Her forehead was creased and he wanted desperately to kiss it away, to hold her because that's what he did and she used to let him.

"I'm so sorry I mucked everything up," he whispered, and couldn't resist reaching out and gently touching her fingers for one moment.

Later that night, wanting to in some small way make up for some of what he had done, he pulled out his small radio and tried to tune in to the show he had learned about while at Bill's – Potterwatch, sure that they would love it.

"If it's annoying you, I'll stop!" he said the moment Hermione slid off her bunk and was advancing towards them. She ignored him – something of a relief – and instead addressed Harry. "We need to talk."

"What?"  
>"I want to go and see Xenophilius Lovegood."<p>

Harry's face mirrored Ron's own.

"Sorry?"

"Xenophilius Lovegood. Luna's father. I want to go and talk to him!"

"Er – why?"

"It's that mark, the mark in _Beedle the Bard_. Look at this!" Ron watched as Harry peered on the page she had opened. "The signature. Look at the signature, Harry!"

Unable to resist the curiosity any longer, Ron said, "Er – what are you –?" Hermione glared, and he fell silent again.

"It keeps cropping up, doesn't it? I know Viktor said it was Grindewald's mark, but it was definitely on that old grave in Godric's Hollow, and the dates on the headstone were long before Grindewald came along! And now this! Well, we can't ask Dumbledore or Grindewald what it means – I don't even know whether Grindewald's still alive – but we can ask Mr. Lovegood. He was wearing the symbol at the wedding. I'm sure this is important, Harry!"

Ron hadn't the slightest idea of what they were talking about, only a vague memory of Krum's anger at the wedding. Regardless, he already knew that he would back up Hermione no matter what she wanted to do.

"Hermione, we don't need another Godric's Hollow. We talked ourselves into going there, and –"

"But it keeps appearing, Harry! Dumbledore left me _The Tales of Beedle, the Bard_, how do you know we're not supposed to find out about the sign?"

"Here we go again! We keep trying to convince ourselves Dumbledore left us secret signs and clues –"

Ron did have something to contribute here, and immediately opened his mouth. "The Deluminator turned out to be pretty useful. I think Hermione's right. I think we ought to go and see Lovegood."

Now Harry was scowling at him, but he would not withdraw his support for Hermione. Harry knew that, but he still felt the need to explain further.

"It won't be like Godric's Hollow. Lovegood's on your side, Harry, _The Quibbler_'s been for you all along; it keeps telling everyone they've got to help you!"

"I'm sure this is important!" Hermione chimed in, and Ron felt the sudden rush of being on the same team, fighting together. The way she steadily avoided his gaze slightly diminished the effect, but it cheered him up nonetheless.

"But don't you think if it was, Dumbledore would have told me about it before he died?"

"Maybe … maybe it's something you need to find out for yourself."

"Yeah," Ron agreed, knowing full well that she was beginning to sound silly. "That makes sense."

"No, it doesn't, but I still think we ought to talk to Mr. Lovegood. A symbol that links Dumbledore, Grindewald, and Godric's Hollow? Harry, I'm sure we ought to know about this."

Ron couldn't help the grin he could feel starting. "I think we should vote on it. Those in favor of going to see Lovegood…" his hand was already in the air.

Hermione shot him a suspicious glance, but it made a nice change to the purely hostile ones he'd been getting, and he was relieved to see her hand join his in the air.

"Outvoted, Harry, sorry," he smirked, patting Harry's back.

And that was that. They made plans for the rest of the night but to be honest, there wasn't much to discuss. Mostly it would be working on faith when they got to the Lovegoods the next morning. For now, Harry and Ron just sat at the table and spoke in hushed voices.

"You know, if you're going to be siding with her for everything until you get back on her good side, you better hurry up about it."

Ron smirked. "Well I'm trying. I dunno how long she can stay angry. Not that I don't deserve it."

"You know, she's not as angry as she'd like you to think."

Ron sighed. "Stop saying things like that. You know she's not acting."

"No … she's not acting, but she _is_ overdoing it. She wants you here."

"I don't think so."

"Ron. Did you never wonder why she has not said anything this whole day suggesting that she wants you to leave again?"

Ron paused to let this sink in. Come to think of it, the worst thing she'd said was that he was an unwanted guest – nothing about hoping he'd leave.

"Well she hasn't been particularly wordy. Maybe she just thought it was implied."

"Oh come off it. She could have insisted that you leave. I wouldn't have listened to her, obviously, but she definitely could have fought it."

"I guess…"

"She wants you here, mate. And we're going to Lovegood's tomorrow, thanks for that, and she knows it's in large because of your prime pieces of evidence. She's angry, sure, but it's fairly obvious that she's not anxious for you to be gone from our lives anytime soon."

"Do you really believe that?"

"Absolutely. Even if she won't say it out loud, there's no competition between now and the way things were without you."

"I understand the feeling. Everything felt like limbo when I was just on my own."

"Exactly. But, to be honest, I think we've exhausted the subject of how we felt when we were apart. The last time I talked this much about my emotions I ended up on the floor of Snape's office."

Ron snorted. "Good point, mate. Strategy and banter is more our level of expertise."

They grinned at each other, but even that felt too unusually affectionate, and, snickering, they readied for bed in companionable silence.


	31. the Erumpet Horn

**AN: To my reviewers, thank you again! I also wanted to address two guest reviewers – to the guest reviewer that was wondering, YES it was you who made my day last time and to Hbm6092, thank you and since I'm going by the book not the movies, Between the Lines will include the whole book, which spans both parts of the movies. **

Hermione walked mostly in silence, digesting the new twist in Ron's story. So he hadn't gone straight home to be with his family. He hadn't exactly been shivering in a tent or attacked by Voldemort's snake, but he also hadn't been feasting on Molly Weasley's Christmas dinner or basking in the Christmas spirit.

"And here I always thought there were dragons up here for all the effort mum and dad spent into keeping us kids away."

Hermione turned to Ron.

"You've never been up here?"

"No. Mum would never let us go beyond the garden. And we never wanted to, really, with everything the twins said would happen to us."

She nodded, and then turned away for fear that she would start to sound too friendly.

This was not the first bit of small talk that had passed between the three during the long walk. They had discussed the fairness of the weather, the difficulty of walking uphill, the occasional thorn that would bite at their ankles … nothing memorable and nothing of importance.

Hermione folded her arms across her chest tightly to protect herself. From what, she was unsure – Ron or her feelings for him … but she had a suspicion that it was the latter. She hated herself for what was happening in her head – whatever it was – and couldn't do anything but sort, organizing each emotion into a category, analysing each feeling carefully. Unfortunately, this usual method of processing was proving itself to be a dismal failure.

Did she love him? Yes.

Was she angry at him? Yes.

Did he hurt her? Yes.

Beyond those three things, she was at a loss.

Did she want him here? How could she tell? Just seeing his face reminded her of the pain, of everything he'd taken with him when he'd left. But, at the same time, the idea of him leaving again nearly tore her heart out.

Did she trust him? Her head was screaming no, but she found herself overwhelmed with the familiar sense of security that she always had when Ron was around. Something in her knew that as long as he was here, everything would be ok. As long as he was here, she would be safe.

But how long would he be here?

Then again, it was obvious that he was sorry. So sorry. And from what he said, he'd wanted to come back immediately.

But could she even believe what he said now? The same part of her that knew she was safe with him told her that she could. How much was she supposed to trust that part of her, though?

"I see a house!"

Hermione jumped nearly out of her skin when Ron's voice cut through her reverie. His smirk in her direction made her scowl, and she was satisfied when he returned to somber almost immediately. Harry, however, with nothing to prove to her, was snorting with laughter. It was a bit eerie considering he was currently invisible, but irritating none the less.

"Merlin, Hermione, you were at least a foot off the ground!"

"Sod off," she grumbled, and walked speedily to the cottage that she could now see as well. The boys trailed behind her, and she could hear snickering, but each time she turned around, Ron's face was already frowning again and Harry was still concealed beneath the cloak.

His apologetic demeanor, she hated to admit, was making it hard to maintain her fierceness. She refused to let up, though, for reasons she had yet to make sense of. It's not as though it was all an act – she was angry, to be sure. Furious, more like, and wanted him to understand the full extent of the pain he had put her through.

She just didn't know how long she could hold it up. Or how long she should. Harry hadn't hesitated a moment before treating Ron the same as before. Didn't he care about the weeks they had been on their own? Had he forgotten?

Reaching the cottage, her heart sank when she peered in the windows and found them dark and empty.

"Do you think it's theirs, and they've gone away for Christmas?"

"Listen, I've got a feeling you'd be able to tell who lived there if you looked through the Lovegood's window. Let's try the next lot of hills."

His easy dismissal of her suggestion made her fists clench, but she was not going to act indignant. Hate as she did to admit it, he was right. There was no way this ordinary home could belong to Luna.

"Fine, then. We'll apparate farther up."

"Aha!"

She looked in the direction that Ron was pointing when they'd landed, and knew immediately that they had found it.

"That's got to be Luna's house. Who else would live in a place like that? It looks like a giant rook!"

"It's nothing like a bird," she replied, puzzled.

"I was talking about a chess rook. A castle to you." He shot her a smile so fond that for a moment she forgot all about breathing. Then he was gone, already making his way up the formidable slope.

"This should be fun," Hermione sighed. She and Harry attempted to run a bit to catch up, but were soon exhausted, and hiked the rest of the way in slow, panting silence.

"It's theirs," Ron said the moment they had reached the top. "Look."

Sure enough, a sign labeled, "_The Quibbler_, Editor, X, Lovegood" confirmed their location.

After shoving the cloak in her purse, she raised her hand to knock, suddenly feeling trepidation that had not been there before. As her hand fell back to her side, she was surprised when Ron's twitched, inching toward hers. Then, rapidly, he stiffened and stepped away.

Had he been about to grab her hand? The idea wasn't ludicrous – after all, he had always known before the precise moment that she'd needed it. Maybe less had changed than she thought.

* * *

><p>"You don't think it sounds at all ludicrous that there's a stone that can bring people back<p>

from the dead just lying around somewhere? Or a wand that's absolutely unstoppable that can't even protect the wizard that holds it? There are too many plot holes, Ron."

Before she could continue her thoughts on the so-called Deathy Hallows, Harry descended the stairs, face concerned.

"What's wrong?" she asked, but was cut off as Mr. Lovegood returned with a tray of bowls.

"Mr. Lovegood, where's Luna?"

Hermione, eyes widening, looked anxiously between Harry and Luna's father.

"Excuse me?"

"Where's Luna?"

"I … I've already told you. She is down at Bottom Bridge, fishing for Plimpies."

"So why have you only laid that tray for four?"

Mr. Lovegood did not reply, and in that stretch of silence, Hermione had a sinking feeling that she had led them straight into another trap.

"I don't think Luna's been here for weeks. Her clothes are gone; her bed hasn't been slept in. Where is she? And why do you keep looking out of the window?"

Everything seemed suspended for a fraction of an instant, and then the bowls were smashing to the ground, the three of them drew their wand and, with a loud noise, the old printing press shot out several _Quibblers_ and was quiet.

Hermione would have disregarded this, but she saw something familiar on the front and, with chills running down her spine, used her disengaged hand to pick one up. She had not been mistaken – there it was, the familiar portrait of Harry labeled, "Undesirable Number One."

"Harry, look at this."

There was a pause as he took in the headline.

"_The Quibbler's_ going for a new angle, then?" His tone was stiff, unforgiving. "Is that what you were doing when you went into the garden, Mr. Lovegood? Sending an owl to the Ministry?"

"They took my Luna." Xenophilius was looking more like a madman than ever. "Because of what I've been writing. They took my Luna and I don't know where she is, what they've done to her. But they might give her back to me if I – if I –"

"Hand over Harry?"

"No deal," Ron growled, and she nodded in his direction. "Get out of the way, we're leaving."

Hermione was glancing around, planning escapes, knowing they could take Mr. Lovegood if he forced them to.

"They will be here any moment. I must save Luna. I cannot lose Luna. You must not leave."

His arms were spread eagle before the staircase – in vain, but Hermione felt a sharp pang of guilt when she thought about her own parents and the lengths they would have gone through to keep her safe. How could they blame him?

"Don't make us hurt you. Get out of the way Mr. Lovegood."

A motion from the corner caught her eye, and Hermione glanced over in time to see Ministry emblazoned figures zooming passed on brooms.

"HARRY!"

The next series of moments went rapidly – wands raising, spells ready to be cast and then

_CRASH_

She, Harry and Ron were all thrown apart and for one mad moment she actually thought that they had caused the explosion, but no, something else had burst around them, shaking the world and her ear drums. The screams that pierced the wreckage could have been hers or someone else's as she fell into the wall and slid to the floor.

The Erumpet Horn. She felt a bizarre urge to scream, "I told you so!" but, knowing that they had to stay silent, she raised herself up, looking at Harry, and pressed her finger to her lips.

"Didn't I tell you there was no need to hurry, Travers? Didn't I tell you that this nutter was just raving as usual?"

Xenophilius screeched in pain. "No … no … upstairs … Potter!"

Each word was punctuated with a bang, and Hermione winced. Despite his betrayal, she felt horrible for the sniveling man below.

As they yelled and continued to terrorise Luna's father, Hermione forced herself to tune them out. She had to get them out of there. Still, she knew they would kill Mr. Lovegood if they thought he was lying to them. Somehow, they had to know that Harry was here. And, of course, they couldn't see Ron – his family would bear the brunt of that revelation. They would have to use the invisibility cloak.

"Homenum revelio."

Hermione gasped as the bizarre sensation rushed over her.

"There's someone up there all right, Selwyn."

"It's Potter, I tell you, it's Potter! Please … please … give me Luna, just let me have Luna…"

"You can have your little girl, Lovegood. If you get up those stairs and bring me down Harry Potter. But if this is a plot, if it's a trick, if you've got an accomplice waiting up there to ambush us, we'll see if we can spare a bit of your daughter for you to bury."

Horrified, Hermione knew that they absolutely had to catch a glimpse of Harry, if only to save Luna. Wherever she was. Now things were more complicated, though, with Lovegood climbing the stairs to them. If she acted carefully, it could work to her benefit. It would give her a chance to wipe his memory clean of their visit when the Death Eaters interrogated him about their visit.

There were noises of Xenophilius climbing the stairs.

"Come on. We've got to get out of here."

Harry was busying himself getting out from under the pile of debris on top of him, and she followed suit. She had forgotten that they would need to be free for her plan to work. Sliding her eyes around the room, she suddenly noticed that Ron was not buried _next_ to the chest of drawers, but under it.

Her stomach sank and, the moment she had gotten out, climbed over the rubble to help him. Harry followed, and together they attempted to pry it off of him.

"Merlin, what has gotten into me? Wingardium Leviosa." Her words were barely above a whisper, but it did the trick and the chest floated off of Ron. Without thinking, she extended a hand, helping him up. The expression on his face – surprised and pleased – was far too hopeful.

She let go as though she'd been burned and turned around.

"All right." She watched the blockade to the stairs begin to shake and knew that Xenophilius was moments from them.

"Do you trust me, Harry?" He looked a bit startled at her sudden inquisition, but nodded.

"Okay then. Give me the Invisibility Cloak. Ron, you're going to put it on."

"Me? But Harry –"

They didn't have time for this.

_"Please, Ron!_ Harry, hold on tight to my hand, Ron, grab my shoulder."

She felt both of them grabbing onto her and, despite herself, felt a rush of confidence from their presence.

"Hold tight … hold tight … any second."

There – his face. Without waiting, she directed her wand at him and, with the word she'd perfected, cried, "Obliviate!" In the next instant, she pointed her wand at the floor and, "Deprimo!"

They were falling, just as she'd wanted – she tried to look at the men's faces, but with the whooshing air and making sure to focus and turn on the spot, she couldn't be sure they'd seen Harry.

Harry and Ron were still on the ground when Hermione began the protective enchantments. Pumped with adrenaline, she ran around the circle, shouting charms and the usual enchantments.

"That treacherous old bleeder!" He threw the cloak to Harry. "Hermione, you're a genius, a total genius, I can't believe we got out of that!"

"Didn't I say it was an Erumpet horn, didn't I tell him? And now his house has been blown apart!"

She had only changed the subject to distract herself from his flattering words.

"Serves him right. What d'you reckon they'll do to him?"

"Oh, I hope they don't kill him! That's why I wanted the Death Eaters to get a glimpse of Harry before we left, so they knew Xenophilius hadn't been lying!"

"Why hide me, though?"

"You're supposed to be in bed with spattergroit, Ron! They've kidnapped Luna because her father supported Harry! What would happen to your family if they knew you're with him?"

"But what about _your_ mum and dad?"

His concern was, perhaps, even more endearing than his flattery.

They're in Australia. They should be all right. They don't know anything."

"You're a genius."

Then again, she quite liked his flattery as well.

They continued their discussion while setting up the tent, then settled inside and took up a discussion of the supposed Deathly Hallows. Hermione couldn't believe how seriously Harry was taking it – Ron's hesitance made slightly more sense, but Harry's sudden fervor scared her. She recognized the obsessive light in his eyes. She had seen it in first year with the hunt for Nicholas Flamel, then again in sixth year when he'd been stuck on the idea of Malfoy being a death eater. He'd been right in the end, but it came at the price of his attention in any other field. On a quest such as the one they were on, they couldn't afford to have his attention trained to anything else.

She felt sick as Harry talked about raising the dead and then Voldemort's family …

He was pacing and exclaiming and looking mad and, for a sweet moment, she and Ron exchanged a frightened glance, communicating all of the fear, reservation and common experience. It was a look of comfort and familiarity and it took some effort to look away. Startling her, though, Ron's expression was frightfully unsure.

"You don't believe in this, do you?"

She and Harry were both looking at Ron, the tie breaker, waiting to see where he'd put his vote.

"I dunno … I mean … bits of it sort of fit together." Hermione's eyes flashed as he continued, "But when you look at the whole thing … I think we're supposed to get rid of Horcruxes, Harry. That's what Dumbledore told us to do. Maybe … maybe we should forget about this Hallows business."

She nearly sighed in relief. Despite all of the shallow excuses to throw his support behind her before, this was the first time she felt in her core that Ron was one hundred percent on her side. Genuinely, thoroughly, he had her back.

"Thank you, Ron. I'll take first watch."

The stony walls she had erected carefully around her heart had fallen – or at least were broken beyond repair, and she could see in his face that he knew it. His eyes lit up and he beamed at her like a child. She turned away, unwilling to let him believe that all had been magically forgotten.

Settling down in the tent entrance, she slumped over, exhausted from the day's events and emotions.

She could hardly admit, even to herself, what a wonderful change it made to have the one person who had always been her partner and best friend back in their lives.


	32. In the rain

**AN: I have reached 200 reviews! Not exactly a record on this site, but I am still so grateful to all of you! Big thanks this last chapter specifically to F Maurice who, aside from always reviewing, caught quite an oversight! Also, thanks to new reviewer Mallory Rhea for not only your kind words but also the reminder I needed to begin revisiting and editing Between the Lines. Chapter One is done **** In apology for the wait, this is long and fluffy. Hope you enjoy!**

"What do you reckon happened to Luna?"

Ron's words were barely above a whisper. He wasn't sure whether he felt the need to be quiet because of Harry, currently sleeping on his bunk, or because he was still timid and reserved around Hermione. Regardless, she was his best friend and the topic had been weighing on him all evening.

"I wish I knew." Hermione's sigh conveyed none of her earlier fury, easing his nerves.

"She can't be dead – the death eaters there said she was still alive."

"They're not known for their upstanding character, Ron. There's always a chance that they were lying." Her voice trembled.

Ron wanted so badly to reach out and throw his arm around her or to squeeze her hand, but the damage had been done and he could not risk angering her again.

"I don't think they were. Besides, everyone knew she was Harry's friend. I reckon they'll keep her around."

"But around where? Ron … thinking of Luna in Azkaban…."

The idea made him feel ill. "It's better than … the alternative."

Hermione sighed again and nodded. She still hadn't looked him in the eye. But he couldn't stop staring at her as the shadows played across her sweet face.

"I'm worried about Harry."

He glanced at her, surprised at the sudden subject change.

"Yeah?"

"Well of course. Can't you see how he's getting? It's just like…"

"With Malfoy."

"Exactly. Or anything, really. He gets consumed and loses focus."

"I know. But he knows what's important. Doesn't he?"

"I hope so. With all of that riff raff about Dumbledore, though, I'm worried that he'll forget the mission entirely."

"Don't worry, he's Harry. He's never not come through in the end."

"Nothing's the same anymore, though, is it?"

He met her gaze this time, and it was blazing. He felt his ears reddening for so many reasons, most that he didn't understand.

"No. It's not."

She was staring at her feet again. "You should go to bed, Ron. You're probably exhausted."

He nodded, torn between his desire to be with her and his fear of pushing too hard. Finally, he turned to head back towards the tent.

"Ron?"

He paused. "Yeah?"

"I … I'm glad you're back."

His heart sped to at least three times its usual rate. His every instinct urged him to rush back to her, pull her against his chest and hold her there for a long time. However, barely maintaining his cool, he said, "So am I. You have no idea."

Neither of them spoke for a moment more, but Ron felt closer to her than he had in a long time. Several long stretches of silence later, he padded to his bed.

* * *

><p>The few weeks following their narrow escape from the barking Mr. Lovegood, in Ron's mind, were the best since August. Whatever he and Hermione had had before he'd left was returning in thrilling, shy doses that made Harry's odd behavior, sleeping in a tent and even their significant lack of food seem inconsequential.<p>

Each morning, he and Hermione would go over possible areas in which horcruxes might be located. Ron knew as well as the others that their ideas were becoming increasingly far-fetched, but he didn't mind. Any excuse to journey away from their tent was welcome, and they spent many afternoons searching village after village, building after building, for any clue that would lead them closer to the remaining pieces of Voldemort's soul.

Hermione had been right. Harry began to lose focus. It worried Ron how little he cared about their endeavors. At the same time, he felt hypocritical for thinking such things after how he'd behaved. Not to mention, Harry's increasing detachment gave he and Hermione loads of time to spend together to work on rebuilding their friendship.

"Upper Flagley is a Wizarding village, he might've wanted to live there. Let's go and have a poke around," he suggested over breakfast one day. In all honesty he was hoping that they might be able to snag some more eggs, but he wasn't about to voice that.

Not intending to come back that evening, they packed up the tent in silence and, rather than apparate, walked the half mile or so to the small town.

"You two should search for clues. I think I'll look for some food."

Ron was surprised to hear this from Harry, but he didn't protest.

"All right. That's a good idea. Hermione, do you have any money left that he could leave in exchange?"

She looked unsure, but fished out a few sickles anyway. "Here you are. Be careful. Take the cloak."

Harry nodded, extending his hand for it.

Once he had disappeared, Hermione went to work making them as unrecognisable as possible. She tied a pale, pink scarf over her hair and then transfigured Ron's into a long, straw-colored mess. Finally, she waved her wand and her clothes turned a sickly, greyish color. "Now if you'll just put on this jumper –" She pulled out a hideous, lumpy looking thing. He pulled it on without question.

Looking at each other, they burst into laughter.

"Lovely." She smiled and gestured to the town square. "Shall we?"

The first word that popped into Ron's head when their feet hit the cobblestones was "quaint." The lawns were dewy and manicured with white fences and window boxes overflowing with bright flowers. A charming little bridge sat over a trickling river, and the houses were large enough for decent sized families. It all seemed rather muggle-ish to Ron, except for the plants he could see on all sides that he recognised as belonging to the wizarding world.

"Wow," Hermione breathed, looking around them.

"I think I'd like to live in a place like this."

Hermione turned to him, smiling. "I agree. It's lovely."

"Yeah … and you'd never feel squished. But you'd have neighbors…"

She sighed, eyes shining. "Yes … and there'd be room for a pet."

"Pets would be good."

"Mmhmm. And these look like gardens that would need to be de-gnomed. After summers at the Burrow, I've always wanted a garden like that."

Ron stared down at her, knowing with a certainty that he had found the perfect woman.

She cleared her throat, flushing. Ron, embarrassed, managed, "Eh … they're not all they're cracked up to be."

"Yes they are. Everything about your home is perfect."

He wondered if he had ever wanted to kiss her this bad before.

"Guys."

Both of them jumped, startled back to reality to hear Harry speak.

"Oh … hello, Harry."

The invisibility cloak was thrown over them in the next instant.

"What have you been doing all this time? Did you find anything?"

"Erm … no. You-know-who doesn't seem to have anything to do with this place."

Harry nodded, not looking too disappointed, and handed Hermione back her purse. He had taken it with him in case he'd been able to find food and needed a place to put it.

"Some eggs, half a loaf of bread and a carton of milk. We should get back before it all goes bad or breaks."

Ron gave a whoop of elation to which Hermione shushed him (it seemed half-hearted as she giggled first), and readied to apparate.

After some semi-heated debate, (Harry and Ron begging for a few large breakfasts while Hermione put up some weak argument for rationing) the food Harry had collected was gone within two days. The morning they finished the last of it, fittingly, a torrential downpour began so suddenly Ron almost believed it was a sign.

"I feel like maybe things are going downhill," he murmured to Hermione as she sat across for him, gazing, like he was, out of the tent window.

"That's actually rather alarming of you to say."

"Is it?"

"Yes. You've been Mr. Positivity all week."

He quirked an eyebrow. "Hm. That's out of character."

"You could say that."

"I'm not that bad."

He lost their ensuing stare down.

"All right, all right. I'm not generally known for my optimism."

She smirked and, wisely, stayed silent. They returned to their respective thought processes: Hermione obviously consumed with their notes on horcruxes while Ron focused on keeping his eyes off of her.

"You know, I wish everyone stopped thinking of rain as such a nuisance."

It was almost a relief to have an excuse to look directly at her.

"Yeah? Why's that?"

"Rain was always one of my favorite things as a little girl. And now it rains and it feels like an inconvenience. Like it's slowing us down. As if we have anything we're hurrying towards anyway."

"Well what did you used to love about it?"

"Honestly?"

"No, lie to me."

She giggled, and the sound filled him with something warm and intoxicating.

"I liked to run through it without any shoes on."

Ron could picture a small, pre-Hogwarts Hermione darting around with her curls trailing behind her. He didn't realize he was staring until she turned pink and looked at her shoes.

"Merlin, that sounds cliché to say out loud."

"No! No, it doesn't. I used to do that sometimes too. Me and Ginny on our shoddy little brooms. But then I told her I was too old. Dunno why. I still loved it."

"Yeah?" Hermione's eyes were suddenly lit with something that made Ron both excited and nervous.

"Yeah …?"

"Do you think maybe … maybe you'd want to go out there?"

He took in her eager, anxious expression and wanted to laugh. The idea that she thought he might actually turn down a chance to be with her in the rain? He refrained from actually scoffing aloud.

"Yes. Absolutely."

"All right. We can tell Harry that we're … erm … looking for a certain type of mushroom that blossoms only in the rain?"

"Is there such a thing?"

"Not that I know of."

Ron nodded, grinning. "Let's go."

Unsurprisingly, Harry bought their feeble story with little convincing and, trying to act casual, they made their way down the sopping bank a ways. By the time they stopped, both were sodden and laughing in breathless spurts, thrilled with the spontaneity of what they were doing.

"This is perfect!" Hermione shouted over the pounding rain. She gestured toward the expanse of empty field before them.

Grinning, Ron nodded his assent. Exercising an unreasonable amount of courage, he extended a hand. Heart pounding against his rib cage, it jumped wildly when her hand slid sweetly into his.

"On three," he croaked, and she beamed.

"One."

"Two."

"THREE!"

Then they ran. Their feet sloshed through the fields and left deep depressions in the ground. She slipped, but he pulled her up, and they kept going, faster and farther and higher away from Harry and horcruxes and any thought of war or fear. Their laughter was coming in reckless gasps and Ron could no longer tell whether the wetness on his face was from tears or the rain. It didn't matter. Hermione mattered. He mattered. They mattered. That was all.

Once, Ron's dad had instructed him to never let go of the woman that made him feel alive. Then, Ron had held in a snigger at how feminine the sentiment sounded. Now, he understood exactly what Arthur had meant. In every inch of his being – from his toes to the tips of his ears, Ron was alive.

* * *

><p>Ron had developed a weird habit since he'd been back of waking earlier than the other two. Generally, he would put on a pot of tea, but they were running low and, on one particular morning, he reckoned that bringing in water would have to be enough. However, he was surprised when he reached the table only to find a calendar with March 2nd circled several times over and a small bottle of oak-matured mead waiting for him with a neat note attached.<p>

_Ron,_

_ One year ago today, your experience with this drink was rather unpleasant. Before we left, I saw a bottle and thought that you should have the unsullied version since it really is quite lovely. So, in honor of the one year anniversary of your recovery and, more importantly, your eighteenth birthday, I thought I'd give it to you today. _

_ I hope you have a wonderful day. I'm glad that this time we're not fighting so that we can celebrate properly. Well, as properly as possible, considering. Happy birthday, Ron! Sorry it's not as exciting as I would have hoped._

_Love,_

_Hermione_

Blimey, was it his birthday already? She had remembered it. He hadn't, but she had. She had gotten him oak-matured mead and a note and everything. He spun around to her bed and froze to see that it was empty.

"Oh no, I was hoping you'd still be asleep."

There she was, standing in the doorway with a chocolate cupcake clutched in one hand.

"What in Merlin's name…"

"I laid this out because I wanted to be sure you'd get it when you woke up, but I was hoping you'd be asleep long enough for me to put this with it."

She held it out timidly.

"I can't believe you remembered!"

She looked offended. "Have you ever known me to forget one of your birthdays?"

He smirked. "Never."

"That's right. What about the distinctive lack of mental stimulation would give you the idea that I would let the one piece of excitement in March pass by unacknowledged?"

"Well _I_ had forgotten, to be perfectly honest."

"Lucky for you, then, that I'm here."

He couldn't agree more. Holding his hand out for the cupcake, he set it on the table before pulling her into their first hug in months. It was awkward and short, but in those few moments, Ron felt home.

"I guess I'd better go and actually do my job on watch."

"I'll come."

"On your birthday? No – you deserve to sleep in."

"I'd rather take watch with you, to be perfectly honest."

Her smile turned coquettish. "If that's what you want." Her shrug was nonchalant as she exited the tent.

In the early hours of the morning, Ron and Hermione split his birthday cupcake with their fingers, laughing and whispering together in a moment that, in Ron's mind, was flawless. The rest of the day may have gone on just as any other, but he and Hermione's periodic exchange of smiles made it feel like something truly special.

When, that evening, he finally guessed the correct password for Potterwatch, he thought that the day could not possibly get any better, even if Harry had forgotten entirely. The bit of news was exactly what they all needed.

The silence once it was over was an entirely different type than that of the usual tension. It was wonderful – hopeful and familiar.

"Good, eh?"

"Brilliant."

"It's so brave of them. If they were found …"

"Well they keep on the move, don't they? Like us."

"But did you hear what Fred said?" Harry's tone of voice had switched from hopeful to manic in a matter of seconds. "He's abroad! He's still looking for the Wand! I knew it!"

"Harry."

"Come on, Hermione, why are you so determined not to admit it? Volde –"

Ron's chest filled with dread. "HARRY, NO!"

"-mort's after the Elder Wand!"

Ron heard the pop of the enchantments collapsing. "The name's Taboo!" Ron felt like wringing Harry's neck. "I told you, Harry, I told you, we can't say it anymore! We've got to put the protection back around us – quickly – it's how they find…"

The sneakoscope began to spin, cold terror entering the room with a whoosh. Inching closer to Hermione out of instinct, Ron wordlessly clicked the deluminator and captured the light from the room.

"Come out of there with your hands up! We know you're in there! You've got half a dozen wands pointing at you and we don't care who we curse!"

_Happy birthday to me._


	33. Bellatrix

**AN: Looong chapter with a large amount of direct quotes – all belong to J.K. Rowling, obviously. Hope you enjoy. Thanks so incredibly much for everything!**

**I could never convey how emotional this chapter makes me, but I'll certainly try.**

Hermione felt every muscle tense. Her thoughts were blazing through her head at rapid fire pace.

_Whose voice was that?_

_Why did Harry have to say the name?_

_Can we fight our way out? How many are there?_

_Holy Merlin. Fenrir Greyback._

_ Why on Ron's birthday?_

_ We have to find a way to keep our wands._

_ Where's my bag?_

_ They can't recognize Harry._

She acted immediately, sending a stinging jinx straight at Harry's face. She knew it was effective when he clutched his face and doubled over, and she felt sorry, but she had more to do. Her beaded bag was lying on the table. With no time to spare, she shrunk it and stuffed it down her sock.

In the next instant, the snatchers had entered the darkened tent. Hermione sent a silent stunning spell toward one but, without the ability to aim, missed drastically. She felt Ron moving in front of her, but in a blur of events, large men jumped on both of them. She tried to send another curse, but one of the burlier snatchers had pinned her to the ground and was wresting her wand from her grasp.

Not making a sound, she continued to struggle, but the rough hands were clutching her shoulders and dragging her out of the tent. Next to her, she could see a larger man with his arms around Ron's writhing form.

"Get – off – her!" she heard Ron's grunt and, though it filled her with an awry sense of security, she wanted him desperately to keep quiet for his own sake.

She saw his captor hit him, hard, in the nose. Her stomach churned.

"NO! Leave him alone! Leave him alone!"

"Your boyfriend's going to have worse than that done to him if he's on my list." Greyback's words made Hermione's skin crawl as, in the next moment, she was shoved into his grasp.

"Delicious girl … what a treat ..." his fingernails scraped against her neck as his hands moved her hair gingerly to the side. He inhaled. "I do enjoy the softness of the skin …"

She trembled.

"Search the tent!"

She heard Ron and Harry thrown to the ground beside her, but Greyback's scratchy hands did not release her. She could still feel his breath on her neck and ears as he sniffed her. She tried to hold herself stiff, but she could not cease her quaking. She jumped a little when she heard the crashing from inside the tent and could feel Greyback's croaky laughter.

"Now, let's see who we've got."

Hermione's heart dropped, but she was relieved when his hands left her arms. She felt another one of the men– one of the bigger ones – come up behind her, though, so she didn't have a moment to think of getting away. Besides, she never would have left them.

The light hit Harry's face a moment later and, despite the terror pulsing in her gut, she had to admire her handiwork. He didn't look anything like himself.

"I'll be needing butterbeer to wash this one down. What happened to you, ugly?"

Hermione silently pleaded with him to say something – anything.

"I said –" Greyback hit him in the gut and Hermione squeezed her eyes shut – "what happened to you?"

"Stung. Been stung." His voice was winded and pained, making her cringe.

"Yeah looks like it."

"What's your name?"

"Dudley."

Hermione was relieved at the speed in which he answered their second question.

"And your first name?"

"I – Vernon. Vernon Dudley."

If she wasn't so tense, she might have giggled.

"Check the list, Scabior."

_List? What list?_

It took her a moment to remember the wanted list of students on the run.

"And what about you, ginger?"

"Stan Shunpike."

"Like 'ell you are! We know Stan Shunpike, 'e's put a bit of work our way."

Hermione watched the outline of the larger man in horror as he stomped on Ron's mouth.

"I'b Bardy. Bardy Weasley."

Her fists clenched to hear his words laced with blood. She wanted to throw herself between them. She couldn't stop her shaking, but forced herself to come up with a name she could say. Somehow, after attending Hogwarts for six years, not one was entering her head.

"A Weasley? So you're related to blood traitors even if you're not a Mudblood. And lastly, your pretty little friend …"

Greyback was back, fingers caressing her face.

"Easy, Greyback."

Hermione silently agreed with the other man's sentiment.

"Oh, I'm not going to bite just yet. We'll see if she's a bit quicker at remembering her name than Barny. Who are you, girly?"

"Penelope Clearwater." Her voice was shrill, but she prayed that they would believe her.

"What's your blood status?"

"Half-blood."

"Easy enough to check. But the 'ole lot of 'em look like they could still be 'ogwarts age-"

"We'b lebt." Hermione wondered what might have possessed him to admit that.

"Left, 'ave you, ginger? And you decided to go camping? And you thought, just for a laugh, you'd use the Dark Lord's name?"

"Nod a laugh. Aggiden."

She wished badly that she could grab his hand. He was so brave.

"Accident?" Their laughter was loud, cruel.

"You know who used to like using the Dark Lord's name, Weasley? The Order of the Phoenix. Mean anything to you?"

"Doh."

How he kept his voice continuing levelly was beyond her.

"Well, they don't show the Dark Lord proper respect, so the name's been Tabooed. A few Order members have been tracked that way. We'll see. Bind them up with the other two prisoners!"

They were dragged and bound to two others. Hermione could feel Harry next to her and tried to force herself to quit the shivering. She had to be brave.

"Anyone still got a wand?"

"No."

"Doh."

"This is all my fault. I said the name, I'm sorry –"

"Harry?"

Hermione froze, recognising the voice of the boy next to her. "_Dean?_"

"It _is_ you! If they find out who they've got – They're Snatchers. They're only looking for truants to sell for gold."

"Not a bad haul for one night. A Mudblood, a runaway goblin, and three truants. You checked the list yet, Scabior?"

"Yeah … there's no Vernon Dudley on 'ere Greyback."

"Interesting. That's interesting."

Harry could talk his way out of this one, she knew. At the moment, she was testing the bonds on her arms, seeing if there was any way she might be able to get out of them. She was only vaguely listening to his explanation when …

"You know what, Greyback, I think there is a Dudley in there!"

She didn't breathe, thinking, somehow, that the slightest sound of her exhalation might cause Harry's fragile, delicately construed façade to shatter.

"Well, well. If you're telling the truth, ugly, you've got nothing to fear from a trip to the Ministry. I expect your father'll reward us just for picking you up."

_We can't go to Ministry. No, no, no._

"But if you just let us –"

"Hey! Look at this, Greyback!"

Hermione squirmed to see one of the Snatchers carrying the sword of Gryffindor. She moaned internally.

"Ve-e-ry nice. Oh, very nice indeed. Looks goblin-made, that. Where did you get something like this?"

"It's my father's. We borrowed it to cut firewood."

"'ang on a minute, Greyback! Look at this, in the _Prophet_!"

Hermione thought she had known fear in the last few minutes. It was nothing compared to the paralyzing dread that sped through her now. She knew perfectly well how large her own photo was, slapped against the front page of the edition she had left sitting on the table.

"'ermione Granger, the Mudblood who is known to be traveling with 'arry Potter."

Blood coursed so harshly through her head that she nearly didn't catch Scabior's next words. "…like you."

"It isn't! It isn't me!" She cursed her total ineptitude when it came to lying. They had been so close. So close.

"…known to be traveling with Harry Potter. Well this changes things, doesn't it?"

They had them. How had she let this happen? Why hadn't she thought to grab the paper? She felt tremors shake her body. No more ideas flitted usefully through her head.

"What's that on your forehead, Vernon?"

"DON'T TOUCH IT!" Harry cry of alarm made her jump, and then she nearly groaned. His scar hurt. He was letting Voldemort in. At the exact moment they most needed him present.

"I thought you wore glasses, Potter?"

"I found glasses! There was glasses in the tent, Greyback, wait …"

They shoved Harry's spectacles onto the bridge of his swollen nose.

"It is! We've caught Potter!"

_And all because of me._

Each of their faces looked as though they had been slapped by a giant. Or a troll. Something large. They staggered backwards, looking at Harry as though he could be their salvation or demise. Which, she supposed, he could. She listened intensely as the men discussed their fates. The Ministry – they could, honestly, handle it. They had learned the ins and outs, not to mention the invisibility cloak that was currently stashed in the bag in her pocket.

"I say we take him straight to You-Know-Who."

Her eyes widened. She felt her face drain of color.

"…they say he's using the Malfoys' place as a base. We'll take the boy there."

HERE

"What about the Mudblood, then?"

"Wait … Yes – yes, she was in Madam Malkin's with Potter! I saw her picture in the

_Prophet_! Look, Draco, isn't it the Granger girl?"

"I … maybe … yeah."

Back at Malfoy Manor – a home exactly as she had always pictured Draco might have, she wanted to balk under the cowering gaze of her old classmate. He looked even more afraid than she was and yet, his words could be their condemnation.

She was supposed to be a Gryffindor, but, in that moment, nobility was the furthest thing from her mind. Fenrir Greyback – Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy – Peter Pettigrew. The whole house was filled with evil. She felt the cold fear of it in every ounce of herself.

"But then, that's the Weasley boy! It's them, Potter's friends – Draco, look at him, isn't it Arthur Weasley's son, what's his name –?"

"Yeah … It could be."

He looked near tears and, for a bizarre moment, she felt a stab of pity for the awful boy who'd had no choice in his cruel fate.

"What is this? What's happened, Cissy?"

Hermione's blood turned to ice. Everything in her recoiled from the sound, even more than the course words of the bloodthirsty werewolf. She couldn't see the source of the words yet, but the room seemed to fill with the presence of Bellatrix Lestrange. She heard the footsteps coming closer and her whole body tensed.

It was even worse when she finally came into view. Bellatrix was terror in human being form. She towered over Hermione, her heavily lidded eyes piercing Hermione.

"But surely this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?"

Hermione couldn't breathe. She couldn't move. She couldn't break eye contact.

"Yes, yes, it's Granger! And beside her, we think, Potter! Potter and his friends caught at last!"

"Potter?"

Hermione felt a tangible weight leave her chest as the horrible woman backed away. "Are you sure? Well then, the Dark Lord must be informed at once!"

When she saw the inky mark branded into her arm and knew exactly what would happen when it was pushed, she felt the need to vomit.

"I was about to call him!" Malfoy's father's voice sounded childish and petulant. "I shall summon him, Bella. Potter has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority-"

"Your authority! You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius. How dare you! Take your hands off me!"

"This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the boy – "

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Malfoy, but it's us that caught Potter and it's us that'll be claiming the gold – "

"Gold!"

Bellatrix's cackle was manic and unearthly. "Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honor of his … of …"

Hermione looked back and forth between Bellatrix and whatever unknown thing it was that she had caught sight of.

"STOP! Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!"

The sword.

"What is that?"

"Sword."

"Give it to me."

"It's not yorn, missus, it's mine, I reckon I found it."

Hermione could not hold in a yelp when she heard the sounds of someone being loudly stunned.

"What do you think you're playing at, woman?"

"Stupefy! _Stupefy!_"

She heard the other men falling to the ground. Hermione could see, barely out the corner of her eye, Greyback forced to his knees. Bellatrix moved to stand over him.

"Where did you get this sword?" Her whisper packed more force than the scream of a mandrake. Hermione, for one, would rather be facing the latter.

"How dare you? Release me, woman!"

She had no idea how the sniveling man had enough gumption to say such a thing.

"Where did you find this sword? Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!"

"It was in their tent. Release me, I say!"

"Draco, move this scum outside. If you haven't got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me."

Hermione had a strange desire to do something to save them, but knew that their fate was sealed. For now, she could only concentrate on her, Harry, Ron and now Dean Thomas.

"Don't you dare speak to Draco like – "

"Be quiet! The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem!"

She turned her evil gaze back on the group of them.

"If it is, indeed, Potter, he must not be harmed. The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of Potter himself … But if he finds out … I must … I must know… The prisoners must be placed in the cellar, while I think what to do."

"This is my house, Bella, you don't give orders in my – "

"Do it! You have no idea of the danger we are in!"

As demented as Bellatrix looked, Hermione couldn't help but hope desperately that the Malfoys would obey her. The situation might be bad in the cellar, but it couldn't be worse than being face to face with _her_.

"Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback."

Hermione breathed a silent sigh of relief.

"Wait. All except … except for the Mudblood."

Hermione's eyes widened, fingers digging sharply into her palm.

_At least it's not one of the others._

"No! You can have me, keep me!" Ron's voice through the silence was the biggest courage booster she could have received. However, she shook with anger as, in the next instant, Bellatrix slapped him sharply across the jaw.

She was so glad that they were keeping her, not him – she was the one that deserved it the most. She would have spoken up to say as much, but she refused to betray herself with the terrified squeal that she knew was the only sound her voice was currently capable of.

"If she dies under questioning, I'll take you next."

Hermione felt like she might retch, her shoulders trembling harder than ever.

"Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book. Take them downstairs, Greyback, and make sure they are secure, but do nothing more to them … yet."

Cold, debilitating terror was rushing through her, pumping in her veins. Her heart was beating so fast she couldn't feel it – or it had stopped. All that she knew was that she had never felt fear – sickening, nauseating fear like she did now. Hopes for a plan of escape were gone. All she wanted now was to survive. All she wanted was for her and her boys to survive. And for the first time in her life, she felt a near surety that she would not.

Bellatrix was approaching her now, brandishing a knife. Hermione was suddenly sure that she was about to be stabbed, but, instead, the woman cut the ropes holding her to the others. The sharp fingernails dug into her scalp as Bellatrix grabbed a vicious hold on her hair. It was painful, but, she knew, nothing to compare to that which was coming. She didn't whimper or make a sound. For Ron and Harry's sake, she couldn't.

She heard them being marched away, but could only see the bottom of Bellatrix's robes – could only focus on that. Nothing else was real except the force she was exerting to keep the sick from coming up all over both of them.

She was thrown against the floor.

"All right, filth. Let's see if we can get you to make some noise."

Hermione received a sharp blow to her ribs, but wouldn't open her mouth.

"Hm … Gryffindor through and through. We'll try…"

Her body was on fire. Every cell, every inch – pain, pain, pain, burning, burning, burning and she wished for death. In some vague, hazy part of her conscious, a horrible, guttural sound was piercing the room, but it meant nothing to her.

Her muscles were convulsing _let it end let it end please let it end please let it end. What do you want I'll do anything let it end fire fire fire_

_ Hermione_!

Ron's voice. Was it? RON! RON!

The pain evaporated as rapidly as it had come. Hermione gasped for breath, finding herself sprawled on the floor. She remembered where she was and cowered against the sofa.

"Where did you get the sword, Mudblood? Hmm? Did you enjoy that? Would you like some more?

"No, please, NOOOOOOO!"

The pain consumed her again, eating her, becoming her.

_Hermione. Hermione!_

_ Ron ron ron ron ron _

Her brain remembered him. She had to save him.

"I knew you were a screamer."

The hell cleared, giving way to Bellatrix's voice. Hermione felt it like death. She was about to die.

"Please. Please," she whimpered. How had she been reduced to this?

"You will tell me where. You. Got. That. Sword."

Bellatrix's foot was on Hermione's throat. But this pain she could handle. This was nothing. She stayed silent.

_"Crucio!"_

This time, there were no words or even slightly conscious thoughts. Just pain. Fire and melting and her bones were crushing together and she could do nothing but wish for an end.

"I'm going to ask you again! Where did you get the sword? _Where_?"

She was not capable of making words come but this time, when the pain subsided, they did. "We found it. We found it." The wand was pointed at her again. "PLEASE!"

_Mum, please make it stop. I don't like this. I really don't like this._

"You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts!"

Was the pain gone? She couldn't tell – something was still throbbing, ringing like she'd been standing inside a giant bell of torture and it had been struck, the after effects still reverberating through her. Darkness was everywhere and she might have been blind. Or maybe her eyes were closed. It made no difference.

"Tell the truth! _Tell the truth_!"

_I'll tell you anything just let me breathe please let me breathe_

_ Hermione._

His voice. What was his name?

_Fire fire fire_

She had to remember his name.

"What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!"

_Yes, please, please, let it be the knife. _

No, it was the fire – where was the knife?

_RON!_

"Not…in…your…vault." The words came out in gasps, but they came. For the tiny instance that Bellatrix had moved her wand, she could remember. She had to save them.

"I know you are lying, you foul girl." The words came out like poison, subtle and dangerous. "What else did you take? _What else?"_

Take from where? What else did they take? What else? She had no answers to offer!

_I need answers!_

"ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!"

No agony she had suffered in the moments before could have compared to this. Nothing existed in the world but the pain.

_Hermione! HERMIONE!_

A small flutter of coherence batted the back of her mind. Ron. Ron Weasley. He was there.

The pain stopped again. This time, with every ounce of strength she had left, borrowing from the sound of Ron calling her name, she forced herself back to semi-coherence. She was only now aware of the fetal position she'd clutched herself into, the tears streaking down her face. Her brain was hazy, but she battled the ringing from it. Bellatrix would not take her mind and she would not take Ron or Harry. Everything else could be gone, but Hermione would never surrender those.

"How did you get into my vault? Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?"

The cellar. Ron was there. She could speak, even if it took everything she had.

"We only met him tonight!" was that _her_ voice, that course, gasping thing? "We've never been inside your vault! It isn't the real sword! It's a copy! Just a copy!"

"A copy? Oh, a likely story!"

Bellatrix was bending over, yanking Hermione up by the roots of her hair. She closed her eyes in relief. This pain was easy. Anything but the other pain.

"But we can find out easily! Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not!"

_Draco_. She'd forgotten that Malfoy was here. Her eyes flitted until they found him. He was already staring at her, even pastier than usual, and looking stricken. When their eyes met, his breath caught in his throat and he turned away immediately. She wanted to giggle. Malfoy the ferret. Scared scared scared.

She watched as the boy from Hogwarts walked away from them. She could not move her eyes away from the spot, even after he'd disappeared. There was a low murmur of voices, but she could not listen to them. They were so irrelevant when she was floating along in such painless bliss. Her eyes fluttered close. Maybe she could just sleep awhile.

"Thank you, Draco. Glad to see you are still capable of fetching such things as goblins or house-elves."

That voice. That woman. Hermione hated her. Her eyes opened once more. "Griphook," she murmured, recognising the little creature. He met her stare for a split second, but it flickered away almost as soon as she'd seen him. Still, she was so happy not to be alone.

"I have a question for you, and you will answer it better than _her_ –"

This wave of pain took her by surprise. She had thought it was over – it _was _all over … she could hear the strange, screeching sound still in the distance and clung to it. Something real.

"What was that? Did you hear that? What was that noise in the cellar?"

The pain stopped again. More voices talking about the cellar. She wanted them to continue, to leave her free of the torment, curled up and defeated in the corner. She saw Bellatrix coming back and she tried to recoil into herself, but it was useless. She could barely twitch.

"Now you, filthy scum."

She was addressing Griphook.

Her ears gave one last, feeble effort to perk up. What was happening? She realized that Bellatrix had moved targets. Her cruel words were now directed at the goblin.

"Why is it taking you so long, vermin?"

She watched, helpless and distant, as the creature was tortured.

"What's that, Mudblood?"

Bellatrix spun on her again and, with a feeling of dread, Hermione realized that she had whimpered aloud.

"Nothing. Nothing, I swear."

"Crucio! CRUCIO! _CRUCIO!"_

This time, when the pain ended, so did everything else. Life was fading from Hermione's conscious and she didn't mind, much. Drifting along, drifting …

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Sweet, sweet bliss filled any bits of her that still existed. Ron. Ron was here.

Her eyes rolled back into her head and she surrendered fully to the darkness.


	34. Beyond Reason

**AN: Finishing up Malfoy Manor and beginning Shell Cottage – sorry for the wait, I lost the entire first draft of this chapter and had to start from scratch. Hope the second time around turns out the better for it … ah well. **

**Either way, I love you guys! Please tell me what you think using the box provided for just such occurrences. **

Ron tried to think around the boiling, overwhelming fury pulsing through his blood and pounding in his head. No pain could compare to the sound of Hermione screaming – no desire could compare to the one urging brutal, violent revenge against the one that had hurt her and those that had stood idly by. Except, of course, the one urging him to get Hermione out of that house. Still, he tried to think logically. They had to come up with a plan.

"And I think we can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you want her."

Eff the plan.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Ron knew he had just moments before he was attacked, and there was only one thing he could do to ensure that Bellatrix stop hurting Hermione. "Expelliarmus!"

The wand flew from the hand of plausibly the most powerful witch in the world, arcing gracefully over his head and into Harry's hand. For now, at least, Hermione was safe from the pain. Still, there were plenty more hostile forces to deal with. It was surreal – spells were shooting toward him and he hadn't planned this far, but he did not stop, shouting every hex or jinx he knew. He couldn't see Harry anymore, so he was one against three, holding them all off –

"STOP OR SHE DIES."

Ron spun around, cursing himself. Why had he let himself turn his back on Bellatrix simply because she was wandless? She now had Hermione by the hair with a knife to her throat.

"Drop your wands. Drop them, or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is!"

He hadn't realised the room had been spinning until it stopped, everything zooming in to focus on this moment. He could not move, fearing that any disturbance might cause that horrible blade to strike.

"I said, drop them!"

Ron's fingers loosened their hold. His wand fell. Then, because it seemed like the right moment to do so, his arms raised in a gesture of surrender.

"Good. Draco, pick them up. The Dark Lord is coming, Harry Potter! Your death approaches!"

Ron felt fear like a cold compress sucking the air from his chest. There had always been a part of Ron that knew, after everything they'd been through and everything they were expected to do, that he would come face to face with Voldemort someday. But now – with the immediacy of his arrival crashing down around them – Ron realised that he would never be ready for it.

"Now … Cissy, I think we ought to tie these little heroes up again, while Greyback takes care of Miss Mudblood. I am sure the Dark Lord will not begrudge you the girl, Greyback, after what you have done tonight."

Anger reared its head, and Ron pivoted forward. He halted, then, hearing a strange, groaning noise from above them.

With a great screech, the chandelier came lose and shot to the ground, straight for …

"Hermione!"

He was already moving. Bellatrix dove out of the way, Hermione dropped, and glass exploded everywhere, covering her completely. Ron arrived moments too late. He plunged his hand in the pile with abandon, ignoring the sharp edges he could feel. He scooped handfuls of glass away from her face before lifting her with a grunt, clutching her against his chest.

"Dobby! You – _you_ dropped the chandelier?"

Ron turned. The elf, indeed, was the cause of the diversion. His finger was pointed direly in the direction of Bellatrix Lestrange.

"You must not hurt Harry Potter."

"Kill him, Cissy!"

Malfoy's mum was disarmed in an instant.

"You dirty little monkey! How dare you take a witch's wand, how dare you defy your masters?"

"Dobby has no master! Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter and his friends!"

Ron was filled with an overwhelming sense of triumph. In that moment, he understood perfectly Hermione and her obsession with S.P.E.W.

"Ron! Catch and GO!"

He freed a hand and caught the wand, losing no time before spinning on the spot. The only thing he was sure of in the darkness was Hermione – real, solid, in his arms.

They hit the ground with a thud, Ron's body curling instinctively around her. His arms were screaming, but with a heave, he lifted her again and ran for the house.

"BILL! BILL YOU HAVE TO HELP HER!"

He was gasping for air, fighting with his feet for each step, still shouting for help. Finally, there was his brother. It nearly set him over the edge seeing that face, his every instinct urging him to surrender the whole conflict to Bill and let him sort it out. Everything except Hermione. He didn't think he'd ever let go of her again.

"Ron! What's –"

"Where can I lay her down? I just need to lay her down!" Even to him, his voice sounded hysterical.

Bill, true to form, nodded wordlessly. "The guest bedroom at the top of the stairs."

Ron took them two at a time, bursting through the door with a ferocity that vanished completely by the time he reached the bed. He placed her gingerly on the clean sheets. Then, unwilling to release her completely, he kept his arms fastened around her middle, buried his face in her stomach and began to cry.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry, Hermione. I'm so sorry."

He froze, feeling something on his head. A soft hand pulled gently through his hair, grazing his neck, sending shivers down his spine.

"Shh." Hermione's voice was feeble, but it was there. "Shh … it's a'right. You were gone. But you came back."

He cried harder.

"You … you came back."

He sat up, staring at her closed eyes, fingers reaching to cradle her face.

"I will always come back."

She screwed up her face, and he was surprised to see the obvious distaste in her expression.

"No. No – don't come back." Ron's heart plummeted to his shoes. "Just stay."

This girl would do him in. He felt splatters as his tears splashed onto his hands and arms. Leaning forward, he pressed his lips to her forehead. Her mouth curved into a faint smile.

"Of course I'll stay. Of course."

He could tell when she had slipped back into unconsciousness. Her breathing slowed, became even, and her muscles relaxed. He would have happily watched her sleep all night, but he was exhausted too. Staying, just as he'd promised, he laid his head on the bed beside her and fell asleep that way, finding her hand in the darkness.

"Ronald. Ronald?"

Ron startled awake, looking into Fleur's concerned face.

Glancing quickly at Hermione to reassure himself of her presence, he turned back to his sister-in-law. "What? What is it? Is everything all right?"

Her eyes flashed irritably. "Zat ees somezing you would 'ave to tell me."

He sighed. "I can't tell you much more than you see."

"Well I cannot see 'ow 'ermione 'as been injured, so eef you would like to tell me zat, zen maybe I can 'elp 'er."

That was a tempting offer, but even he knew that there was not much to be done for a torture victim, so telling her the details wouldn't be of any benefit. "She's just really weak. Maybe a bit of pepper up potion?"

"Of course. But was zat blood I saw earlier?"

He looked at Hermione's neck where the blood had congealed to a slender cut. That wasn't all, though. Several places on her arm were also smeared with traces of it.

"Oh Merlin. Yeah, some stuff for that would be great."

She obviously wanted to push the issue further, but she nodded and swept from the room.

Hermione was still asleep but, just to be sure, he brushed his thumb over the spot on her wrist where he could feel her heartbeat. They had been through their fair share of near death experiences, but he had never known gratitude and relief like this. She was alive. She was here. Feeling daring, he drew her hand up to his lips and kissed each of her fingertips.

There was the sound of a throat clearing in the corner.

Startled, Ron sat up, placing her hand back to the sheets.

"I brought a beet of mild deetany." Fleur's words carried more warmth than they had previously. Ron's ears felt warm knowing what she had just walked in on.

"Thanks. And how're the others?"

Fleur's face fell, and terror struck Ron hard, in the gut. Had he been so consumed with getting Hermione to a bed that he had missed some tragedy? If Harry … no, he couldn't think about it.

"What? What is it?"

"Eet ees ze elf."

"Dobby? Why? Is something wrong with him?"

"Ze elf – Dobby – deed not make eet. 'ee ees dead."

Ron felt a bizarre mixture of horror and relief. Guilty as it made him feel, he was glad it hadn't been Harry. Still, he felt a sharp pang of loss. Dobby died trying to save them.

"Would you mind looking after Hermione for a bit?" The words hurt – he didn't want to leave her side – but he knew how capable Fleur was and he knew that his best mate needed him right now.

"Of course not. Eet ees no trouble."

"Thanks. Tell her I've gone to help Harry if she wakes up."

"I weel. Do not worry."

He made his way to the kitchen where Bill, Luna and Dean were all sitting with cups of tea.

"How's Hermione?"

"How is she?"

"Is Hermione all right?"

Ron felt a rush of affection for each of them.

"She just needs some rest. She'll be all right. Where's Harry?"

Bill stood up, looking determined. Ron could guess what he was about to say.

"Ron. We need to talk."

He could either play dumb or defensive. He opted for the first.

"All right. What's the matter?"

"Oh come off it. What's going on? I think I deserve to know."

Ron sighed. "Of course you deserve to know. But you know I can't say anything. I mean, not unless Harry wants to tell you."

"You three are just teenagers. You need adults backing you. We can help."

If Bill's words hadn't sounded so patronising, it would have been harder to resist the offer. As it was, Ron had no trouble in shaking his head. "Dumbledore didn't think so. Neither does Harry. Thank you for your help, but I really can't say anything else."

"Fine." It was obviously not fine.

Ron didn't have time to dwell on his brother's frustration.

"Where's Harry?"

"He's outside. Digging a … a grave."

Right. Harry would take the time to do it by hand. It seemed fitting somehow.

"'Course he is. D'you have an extra spade?"

"Two extra."

Ron looked at Dean and thought that the bloke deserved more credit than he'd given him before.

They reached Harry when the sun was just grazing the horizon, almost ready to ascend into the sky. Just as Ron predicted, the first thing he did was ask about Hermione.

"Better. Fleur's looking after her."

They wasted no time, hopping over the edges and beginning to dig on either side of him. None of them spoke. They didn't need to. All of them were lost in their own thoughts. In some small way, digging this grave was a tribute to the sacrifice of the courageous little elf.

"I think that's good."

Ron agreed with Harry. They had worked quickly, and the hole was perfect for Dobby's tiny frame.

Noticing Harry's jacket wrapped around Dobby, Ron sat on the edge of the hole and pulled off his shoes and socks. Of all his memories of the house elf, those involving footwear were the fondest and most common. It seemed appropriate to cover his feet. Dean extracted a hat and placed it between Dobby's ears.

"We should close his eyes."

Ron jumped to his feet at the sound of Hermione's voice, wrapping an arm around her shoulders when she was close enough. Normally he would have hesitated considering everything that had happened between them. However, between his desire to feel her safe and next to him and his worry that she was still too weak to be walking on her own, it felt like the most natural thing in the world. He knew he'd made the right choice when she immediately leaned into him.

Luna was crouching down, sliding Dobby's eyes shut. "There. Now he could be sleeping." She stood again, making room for Harry to arrange the elf comfortably in the grave.

"I think we ought to say something. I'll go first, shall I?"

Ron glanced at her, already feeling a knot in his throat and dreading the moment that it would be his turn.

"Thank you so much, Dobby, for rescuing me from that cellar. It's so unfair that you had to die, when you were so good and brave. I'll always remember what you did for us. I hope you're happy now."

By her expectant gaze, Ron realised that this was it. He was up.

"Erm … yeah … thanks Dobby."

A tear spilled over.

"Thanks."

"Good-bye, Dobby."

Bill magicked a pile of dirt neatly on top of the grave.

"D'you mind if I stay here a moment?"

"No, take your time, mate." Ron clapped Harry gently on the shoulder using his free hand. His other stayed around Hermione. Together they made their way slowly back to the house.

"How're you feeling?" he murmured, leaning down so Hermione could hear him.

"Sad. I just feel sad." Her words were thick with tears.

Ron nodded and pulled her tighter against his side.

"You are the strongest person I've ever known," he told her, and, blimey, his throat was burning again.

"I don't feel strong, Ron. Not at all."

His other arm came around her, tugging her against his chest. They stopped moving for a long moment, Hermione's face in his shoulder, his in her hair. He pressed a kiss to her forehead.

"You are the _best_ of Gryffindor. You are the bravest, strongest person in the world. Please believe me."

He felt rather than heard her chuckle. "Well, when you say it like that, I'm almost forced to."

Everyone made their way to the living room where Fleur was busying herself with the fire. Ron and Hermione sat on one of the sofas before turning their attention to Bill. "So how's the family? And the Order?"

Ron was in awe as he listened to Bill describe the lengths they had taken to keep the family safe and discreet.

"We've already started getting them out of the Burrow, but now that they know for sure that Ron's on the run with Harry, they'll swarm to the house like Cornish pixies."

"But where are they all staying?"

Bill cringed. "Well we needed somewhere with a lot of room … and someone we knew we could trust…."

It took a moment. When the realisation finally dawned on him, Ron groaned in sympathy. "Muriel's? Merlin, I wouldn't fancy being them."

Bill chuckled, but added gravely, "At least we know they're safe there."

Ron and Hermione nodded emphatically. Nothing else really mattered.

"How did you get Ginny, though, if the death eaters apprehended Luna on the train?"

"Honestly, that was just a lucky draw. The fact that they didn't target her the same time as Luna was a stroke of good fortune. Beyond that, it's just lucky that Ginny's on holiday. If she'd been at Hogwarts, they could have taken her before we reached her. Now we know she's safe too."

Bill began to explain the added safety measures to Harry, while Ron shifted his position, wanting to make sure that Hermione was entirely at ease.

"Are you sure you're comfortable?"

She tilted her head to look at him and smiled. "Very. Thank you."

He nodded, feeling like the most privileged bloke in the world.

"No. I need both of them here. I need to talk to them. It's important."

At Harry's words, they became alert.

"I'm going to wash. Then I'll need to see them, straightaway."

He walked into the kitchen and they heard water running.

"What d'you reckon he's up to?"

"Mm … I'm not sure. But I have a good feeling about it. Like maybe … maybe he's focused again."

Her words still sounded a bit strained, but, all things considered, she was doing remarkably well.

"I think you're right. As per usual."

She chuckled softly, but it turned into a cough almost immediately.

"Whoa, easy there."

He rubbed her back in small, slow circles.

"Thank you, Ron."

They looked up as Bill and Fleur quietly left the room together. Appraising the room, Ron noted that Dean and Luna were deep in conversation. Luna looked animated. Dean looked bemused but content.

"Did I just hear my name?"

Ron turned his attention back to Hermione who was listening to Bill, Fleur and Harry speaking in the other room.

"I'm not sure. Let's find out."

He stood, extending a hand and helping her up. They made their way to the door but stopped just short of crossing it.

"Griphook. I'll speak to Griphook first."

"Up here, then."

They watched as Harry started up the stairs.

"I need you two as well!"

They breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief.

"How are you?" Harry's words were directed towards Hermione. "You were amazing – coming up with that story when she was hurting you like that –"

Ron squeezed her to him, hoping that she truly understood how much she had done.

"What are we doing now, Harry?"

"You'll see. Come on."

He was exhausted, still stinging with the tragedy of Dobby's death, still haunted by the raw memory of Hermione's tortured screams and yet, as they followed Harry into see Griphook, he was struck by a sense of peace. They were alive and safe. Things felt right with Hermione again. And Harry – Ron could feel that he was back as the leader. Once, he had resented that. Now, he couldn't feel more relieved. Everything was back to the way it should be. And he was done being an arse.


	35. with Abandon

**AN: Thanks so much for all the positive and otherwise feedback. I would not still be writing if it weren't for all of you.**

**Some warning – I wrote this on my death bed with a major cause of writer's block. Sorry for any side effects that it may have caused. **

**All dialogue, characters and story elements that you recognize are not mine.**

_Hermione. Hermione. Hermione!_

_ Thank Merlin, Ron was here … that was his voice._

_ Hermione please!_

_ Please what?_

_ WAKE UP!_

_She didn't know how – rough hands were on her again, no, no_

"Hermione!"

Hermione returned to consciousness with her heart still racing. And there he was. Ron was bent over her, gentle hands on her shoulders, his face drawn and anxious.

"Oh … you're here."

A terrified Luna stood behind his shoulder, looking stricken. Everything came rushing back and she realised the scene she must have made.

"Oh … Luna … I'm so sorry!"

Luna shook her head. "No – please don't apologise. I just … I couldn't get you to wake up."

"Erm … and you could?" she directed her words at Ron, and he nodded.

"I heard you from the living room and ran up here."

Embarrassed, she struggled to sit up. Ron's arm slid around her back and helped her.

"Thank you Luna – you should go back to bed and try to sleep some more. I think I'll walk around for a bit."

It went unspoken that Ron would come with her. As they walked out together, she could tell that Ron was still worried. One of his hands stayed on her elbow and he kept shooting her glances when he thought she didn't notice.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I didn't mean to pull you out of bed."

He was already shaking his head. "Don't worry about that. Blimey, I'd never forgive myself if you woke up alone. After everything you went through for us?"

She would have replied, but she stumbled on the last step. Conveniently, she could scarcely shrug in an out of balance manner before his arm was around her. He stood her upright again. And it didn't hurt when he stayed like that.

"Where do you want to go?"

"What time is it?"

Ron looked around them. "Mm … I reckon it's about 3a.m."

"How do you know that? Did you just figure that out by the light quality? That's brilliant!"

He smiled sheepishly and held up the gold watch he'd gotten for his birthday.

She laughed. "Of course. That should have been obvious. Well … it may be a bit crazy, but I'd rather like being by the water right now."

"Lead the way."

He placed a hand on her back and followed her out the door.

Hermione had always loved the sea. Right now, in the earliest hours of the day, sitting next to Ron, it had never seemed so beautiful.

"I'm really am sorry about all the fuss," she said after a long moment of comfortable silence.

He looked down at her and sighed. "You have the least reason of anyone to apologise for. And the nightmares – well, I have those myself. You'd be surprised how many times in the last few days Harry has had to wake me up in the middle of one."

"Yeah? What do you have nightmares about?"

His face was drawn. "I reckon it's about the same thing as you."

This shouldn't have surprised her, but she was still touched. Trying to convey what it all meant to her, she said, "You know, I heard you down in that cellar."

"I _was_ being rather loud."

"Yes … you were. And it kept me sane."

He stared at her and for a single instance, she was sure that he was finally going to kiss her. Instead, he reached out and took her hand.

"Then I'm glad I never stopped yelling."

She leaned her head onto his shoulder. "Me too."

"Hermione?"

She startled awake, surprised that she'd dozed off. "Oh … have I been asleep for long?"

Ron's hand had dropped hers and his arm was now resting around her shoulders.

"Yeah, you were out for a bit."

"I'm sorry." She yawned. "What did you need?"

The expression on his face scared her.

"You remember the summer before fourth year?"

"You mean the one in which we attended a world-wide Quidditch match, slept in the tent we've been using along this entire journey, were attacked by death eaters and saw the dark mark? No … I don't seem to have any recollection of it.

He snorted, but persisted. "No – I mean before all the rubbish happened. Right before Harry got to the Burrow?"

Hermione blushed, knowing exactly which part of the summer he was referring to.

"Erm … yes … I remember." She smiled, in spite of herself. "The lake."

"Yes. The lake."

She did remember – all too well – the moment she'd walked out of the house in her (according to her mother) _painfully_ modest one-piece bathing suit and Ron's jaw fell to the floor. It wasn't exactly a flattering look, either. He'd looked shocked and a bit appalled.

"What about it?"

"Well … the waves do look rather nice tonight."

Startled, she turned to look at him. "There is no chance I'm getting in that water. It's only April. It will still be freezing. Not to mention, I have nothing to wear."

Ron was already standing up, leaving her to sit perfectly still and sternly shake her head.

"No, Ron. This is not a good idea."

"We're magic, Hermione. Making the water warm won't be difficult for two mostly competent magical people such as ourselves."

"All right but I still don't have a bathing suit."

"Why not just wear what you've got on?"

She glanced down. Even with the dressing gown, her T-shirt and pygama shorts could be seen. "Because then I'd be wet and cold!"

"Drying and heating spells?"

Why was she considering this? It made no sense – it would be freezing. No heating spell could warm an entire sea. She thought back to that summer – to the day she, Ron and Ginny stood on the dock and screamed as they jumped.

"I must be mad."

Ron cheered and extended a hand. "Let's go!"

"I can't believe I'm doing this," she sighed, letting him pull her up.

"Aw come off it. Was it not you, only a couple weeks ago, that got me to run like a nutter through a rainstorm?"

He had a point.

"All right, fine. Where are we jumping from?"

"Over here."

She followed him down the beach to a small outcropping of rocks.

"Oh Merlin. This can't be safe."

"It is – I tried it out when I was here last."

"Ron! That was back in December! You could have died or frozen or both!"

He smiled, and held out a hand. "On three."

They counted, and sprung for all they were worth. She screamed with abandon and laughed with abandon and thought with abandon for a moment about how desperately she loved the boy flailing through the air beside her.

When they resurfaced, the two of them swam furiously for the shore, giggling and (in Ron's case) occasionally cursing. He pulled himself out first, then reached down and lifted her out, one handed, with what seemed like no effort at all. For a moment they simply stood, holding hands, staring at each other. Then a gust of wind blew their wet clothes against them and all thoughts of anything but warmth evaporated.

They walked back to the house together, pausing just before the front door.

"Come with me," Ron said softly, and Hermione had never known the immense power in those three little words. She didn't say anything as he tugged her along behind him, pulling her down a nearby hill and through a small gap between trees.

"Oh, Merlin."

Hermione was suddenly standing in a sort of fairyland – certainly not something that should be found in reality. Large, knotty trees were everywhere with a small stream and a lone bench in the middle of it all. She sat down beside him and, intoxicated by his nearness and warmth and finally letting the earliness of the hour settle in, she yawned largely.

"Tired? Do you wanna go back?"

Would his anxiety for her sake always be this endearing?

"No. No, I'm fine right here. Can I just borrow your shoulder?"

He grinned, sliding further down in his seat. "'Course you can."

She laid her head against it, her eyes fluttering closed.

"When did this become all right?"

"What d'ya mean?"

"When did it stop being off limits to put my head on your shoulder? Or for you to put your arm around mine? When did it stop being weird to be alone with you?"

When Ron answered her, there was an odd quality to his voice that told her there was something he wasn't saying. "Well I'm not sure about the first two, but I reckon the day it stopped being weird to be alone with you was our first Hogsmeade trip. I was a bit nervous beforehand. But it was normal. Just like I was with my best mate. Which I was."

Hermione chuckled. "That was a good day. Probably my favourite Halloween. Sure beat the death day party. Or the troll attack."

"It was a good day. I'd never seen you wear your hair in a plait like you did."

Her stomach clenched funnily. How did he remember that?

"Erm … yeah – I wasn't very good at it."

"It looked fine. Although I must say, I'm surprised you didn't enjoy the troll fight. That's one of my best memories from Hogwarts."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. It was exciting, first of all. We managed to defeat it as ickle first years, second thing and, most importantly, we were friends after that."

"That's true." Hermione laughed again, remembering it all. "I had no friends – I was such an infuriating little know-it-all. Merlin I miss those days."

"Me too. But sometimes, I think I'm a bit partial to how things are now."

His arm fell around the back of her seat and butterflies fluttered from her brain to her pinky toes.

"Yeah. Me too."

Her eyes were heavy, and it was too easy to fall asleep, trying all the while to subtly inhale his smell.

"I'm glad you heard me," she tried to say, but with how tired she was, she couldn't be sure that any sound had actually come out.

"So am I."

When Hermione woke up again, she was in her bed. The light filtering around the curtain edges was brighter than she expected. Stretching, she ambled over to peer outside. The sun blinded her immediately, giving her the distinct impression that she had missed out on a good portion of the day.

"Harry won't be happy," she said to herself, and hurried out the door. The house seemed too still to be natural. Luna was gone, and Harry hadn't insisted that she wake up yet, which meant he hadn't started talking to Griphook. What time was it?  
>She crept into the kitchen and peered at the clock – 11:00! She felt sick with fear. More people should have been there. Walking into the boys' room, she gasped to find a snoring Ron still in bed.<p>

"Oh, thank Merlin. Ron!"

True to his character, he didn't even twitch. She walked over to him, grabbed his shoulders and shook. "Ron!"

He sat up with a jerk.

"Hermione!"

"The one and only."

He blinked, confused and bleary eyed.

"What is it? Where is everyone?"

"That's just it – I can't find them!"

"What time is it?"  
>"A little after 11:00."<p>

His reaction was similar to hers. Together, they searched all of the rooms. Only Ollivander was still there, but he was sleeping so soundly that they didn't dare bother him. It was obvious that, though they were scared for everyone, their unspoken terror was mostly for Harry. Where was he?

"Oi! Hermione! In here!"

Pausing on her way to the attic, Hermione ran back down the stairs to meet Ron where he was peering out the kitchen window. Standing on tip toes, she saw Harry there, sitting with Griphook on the shore.

"Oh I'm so glad he's all right!"

"I'll strangle the prat!"

They glanced at each other and chuckled.

"Come on. Let's go find out what happened to the everyone."

When they reached Harry and the shrewd little goblin, Hermione was the first to speak. "Harry, we were worried sick! And Griphook – I'm glad to see you up and around. Feeling any better?"

"Better than death? Since all of this pain tells me that I must still be alive, I suppose it's true."

Sometimes Hermione had a difficult time maintaining her diplomacy. By Ron's clenched fists, she could tell that he felt the same.

"Sorry, guys. You both seemed really tired when you came in last night" – Harry shot them a suggestive look – "so I told the others to let you sleep in."

They blushed.

"Right. Erm, thanks mate."

"Where is everyone?"

"Bill is with the Order. Fleur, since she's less conspicuous, is shopping for food. Dean and Luna went for a walk around the house. And Ollivander should still be sleeping. At least I haven't seen him come out yet."

"Oh. I see. Well, is it all right if we join you?"

Harry nodded, patting the ground next to him. "Sure. We came out here because of the good weather."

Ron extended a hand and helped Hermione sit before falling to the ground beside her.

They discussed the many impossibilities of breaking into the world's most protected wizarding bank, bouncing around ideas and suggestions. Hermione loved this – the planning, reasoning and ironing out hitches in the plan.

Her enthusiasm, admittedly, might have been heightened a little by Ron's arm pressed against hers.

Like so many other moments in the past, this day felt like a turning point. When Ron left, she thought all of those moments were gone for good. Even when he came back, she wasn't sure that she'd ever be able to trust him again.

She had never been so happy to be wrong.


	36. Hogsmeade

**AN: Hello, all. Just wanted to apologize, first of all, for some atrocious errors in my previous chapters and say that I'll revisit them as often as possible. **

**Next, just for information's sake, this is a flashback (possibly the last – we'll see how that goes) of October 31, 1993.**

"Blimey I feel bad for him."

Hermione sighed. "So do I. He really needs something like this right now, even if it's much too risky."

"Aw, come on. There are plenty of people around. As if Black would pop up from behind a sweet shop and try to do him in."

"It wouldn't be the first time he's attacked someone on a public street, Ron."

"Yeah, reckon you're right. But still …."

An awed silence descended on them both as the first store came into view. Ron felt like all of his wildest fantasies were about to come true.

"I do believe that's Honeydukes … my parents would kill me if they knew I was about to go inside."

Ron glanced at her and smiled fondly. "Good thing they're not going to know."

He could tell that she was steeling herself to go in. This struck him as rather odd seeing as how this was the same witch that, only last year, had hunted down a basilisk and the year before had accompanied he and Harry to find the philospher's stone passed a three headed dog, giant chess set, some murderous weeds and deadly potions.

"All right. Let's do it."

Ron chuckled, but she shot him a look and he shut up.

Inside Honeydukes was a madhouse. Students of all ages were scrambling around leaving little room to take everything in. It didn't stop Ron from standing absolutely still for a moment longer, gaping around at the shelf upon shelf of magical candy.

"It's beautiful."

For once, Hermione nodded her agreement.

"I … I don't even know where to start."

Hermione's expression went at once from overwhelmed to businesslike as it always did when there was a mission to accomplish.

"Well we'll have to start with whatever we think Harry would like."

"All right. Erm … and that would be …."

They turned slowly on the spot, trying to make sense of the massive rainbow of sugar before them.

"Oh look, Ron, over there!"

"Over where?"

"Special effects sweets! Do you think –"

"Let's go!"

He pulled her along behind him to a corner of the shop that he knew to be legendary.

"I feel like I've waited a million years for this!" He grabbed a fistful of Droobles chewing gum.

"This here – if you pop any of this, bubbles will fill the room and you won't be able to get rid of it for days! The twins thought it was a riot before they discovered the full possibilities of Zonkos. Used to drive mum mad.

And this! This is a bon bon that explodes when it hits your stomach! I've never been allowed to try one – apparently it's a nasty ache you get. I reckon Harry'd like to try some, let's get a few. Oh, you have to see what these can do – pepper imps, you see, and they're not kidding about the pepper. It's mad, you breathe fire like a dragon! Ice mice … hm, I've never seen those but they seem like loads of fun. And of course the toad shaped peppermint creams – mum hated the bumblebee ones from awhile back. They would buzz around your stomach for hours and everyone on the same floor could hear it."

He paused, turning to gauge Hermione's reaction to all of this. She was beaming at him, with a strange look in her eyes that made him flush.

"Erm … think Harry'd want any of that?" he said lamely.

"Oh … er, right. You know I like the look of those toothflossing stringmints."

Ron shot her a look of outrage.

"Toothflossing stringmints! Candy that flosses for you? Honestly, woman, give the poor bloke a break."

She looked embarrassed and he regretted his words. An embarrassed Hermione was a dangerous Hermione.

"Well you mentioned everything else! And what's wrong with putting good use and health into a candy?"

He knew he was treading on treacherous ground, but he couldn't help but supply, "Well the point of a candy is to steer clear of use or health, isn't it?"

She huffed, but held up a sugar quill. "Fine. How about these?"

"Oh, brilliant! So he can sneak sweets into class."

Hermione looked appalled. "I didn't realise they were used for that!"

Although Ron couldn't understand why that hadn't crossed her mind, he didn't need to let her know that. "Oh, no, I was just kidding. No one uses them like that. I think he'll love them."

Pacified, she nodded and continued to sort through the rest of the bins.

When they left Honeydukes, satisfied with their assortment for both themselves and for Harry, the first thing Ron noticed was the chill.

"Where should we go next?" Hermione asked, teeth chattering. She was wearing only a thin jumper over her regular shirt.

"Why don't we head over to Zonko's for a bit?"

Still shivering, she nodded, and followed him down the street.

"Hermione?"

"Y-yes?"

"Take my jacket, will you?"

She looked startled. "What? No – Ron, I couldn't. You'd be freezing."

"No, I have a jumper underneath. And it's thicker than that little thing you have on – Molly Weasley original."

"Yes, but you hate maroon!"

"It's one of Percy's old ones. It's navy. I don't mind it."

She still looked hesitant.

"Listen, Hermione, if I get really cold I'll just ask for it back. All right?"

She finally accepted and, though she looked a bit drowned by it, Ron thought it had a nice effect.

"Thank you, Ron. That was chivalrous of you."

He wasn't totally certain what that meant, but he still pinkened with pleasure and smiled. "Of course. Couldn't have you turning into a humansicle."

Zonko's was incredible. Ron didn't buy anything there (he feared that Hermione would be disapproving if he tried) but could have perused it for the remainder of the day.

"Do you want to go see the Shrieking Shack?" Hermione asked when he'd gotten his fill of dung bombs and disappearing quills.

"Sure."

The air had dropped significantly in temperature when they ventured back out. If felt as though he wasn't wearing anything at all as the wind sliced right through Percy's jumper, but he was enjoying the sight of Hermione in his jacket too much to let her know how cold he was.

"They say it's the most haunted building in Britain," Hermione said when they could see it just a little in the distance.

"Yeah? Do you believe it?"

Hermione smiled. "Had you asked me two years ago, I would have scoffed in your face. But now I can't be sure."

Ron thought about this and frowned. "That's right. It's been just barely that long since you thought you were a muggle."

"You mean just over two years since I didn't even know muggles existed. We were just people."

"I dunno. I don't think Hermione Granger could ever have been convincing as 'just a person.'"

That strange quality was back in her expression. It made him feel warmer and nervous and uncomfortable but maybe in a good way.

"Thank you, Ron." She looked away. "Not to say that anyone in my class agreed with that."

"What do you mean? They had to know you were smarter than all of them."

She smiled sadly. "Being smart isn't the same as being liked. In fact, being smart sometimes ruins your chances of it."

Ron had never thought to consider what Hermione must have been like before coming to Hogwarts. Before she knew she was a witch.

"Well you must have had friends."

She didn't stop looking at her shoes. "Yeah – mum and dad."

Ron felt sick thinking about how he and Harry treated her when she'd first met them.

"Blimey. Well they all missed out. You're a good friend to have."

"You mean the freak? The one that made strange things happen wherever she went? The one that got perfect scores on every assignment but was so weird that no one bothered to ask for her help anyways?"

"Yeah. That girl – the one who turned out to be the brightest witch at the best school of magic in the world."

He meant every word, but he couldn't decide whether or not he regretted them when her eyes filled with tears.

"Let's go have a look at the Post Office," she said with a falsely cheery tone, changing the subject. He couldn't have been more grateful for the distraction as he followed her there.

By the time they were back outside, the weather was chilly enough that they were both shivering.

"Fancy a spot of butterbeer?"

"Yes, please. Where was the Three Broomsticks again?"

"I think I saw it over here."

The number of Hogwarts students in the little pub was at least double that of Honeydukes. Of course, it didn't serve in distracting from the several shady characters that huddled in corners as well. Or from the very curvy, very attractive bar maid he could see making her way around the room.

Ron gulped loudly.

"Erm … right, well I reckon we should find a table."

He searched for one near the front but the nearest one was further away from her than he'd like.

"Ron. Ron!"

He jumped a little, and spun around.

"Ron! What is wrong with you?"

"What do you mean? Nothing – what did you need?"

"I needed to point out the only free table in the place! Honestly, stop ogling her, she's probably twice your age."

He could feel his face heating rapidly. "What – I don't even … I mean, honestly … you…"

"Oh shut up." Her tone was terser than he was expecting. "Let's just go before it fills up."

As she worried, they arrived at the table just as several members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team did.

"Ohhh…" Katie Bell shot them a coy look that Ron didn't like one bit. The team backed away.

"We didn't realise this table was _occupied_." Angelina's eyebrows rose to her hairline.

"Oh, we don't mind, you can join us," Hermione supplied, obviously a bit puzzled by their actions.

"Oh no, we wouldn't want to intrude!" Alicia was on the verge of giggling – Ron knew because it was one of the scariest things he'd ever seen on a woman.

"You wouldn't be intruding, honestly." Hermione's brow was creased.

"Oh no, that's all right. We had no idea you two were … coming _together_…" Katie said, and the other two apparently couldn't handle it anymore because they dissolved in mirth and disappeared.

Ron and Hermione stared in silence after them for a long moment.

"Off their rockers," Ron said quietly.

"Perfectly mad."

"No idea what they were talking about…"

That horrid silence fell again.

"So … erm … butterbeers?"

Ron cleared his throat and nodded, turning back to the bar. His heart sank, knowing how big of a prat he would look if he tried to talk to the waitress.

"Oh I'll do it!" Hermione rolled her eyes and hopped off the stool. She made it to the counter and Ron frowned. Something was different about her today – he'd almost noticed it that morning, but it quickly faded from thought. Now, though, he was sure of it. She spun back around and he realised that, rather than her bushy mane, a long plait swung around with her.

Ron reckoned she looked a bit …

No, pretty couldn't be the right word.

Nice. Hermione looked nice. That was safe.

He found himself unable to look away as she walked back towards him with a coy smirk on her face. Merlin, when had she learned how to do that? He didn't like it. It was making his stomach feel strange – flipping oddly.

She slid back into her chair, butterbeers in hand.

"Get a nice view of Rosmerta?"

"What?"

Hermione sighed, exasperated. "The barmaid. That's her name. Or did you not realise she had one?"

"Of course she has a name! Honestly … I knew she had a name."

He sipped the warm drink sullenly.

"All right, all right. You knew. What is the matter with you today?"

"Nothing!"

"Fine. If you say so."

Ron refused to look at her again. It made him feel too out of sorts.

"So … I was thinking we could go look at Dervish and Banges after this? I've needed some new quills. And I was thinking about buying a new cauldron as well."

Ron could tell that she was changing the subject for his benefit. She always knew when to stop pushing. He appreciated it and had no problem playing along.

"Right, good thought. I've been wanting some new parchment myself."

"For all of the letter and essay writing you're so keen on?"

Ron laughed. "Yeah. That. Or to replace all the essays I muck up the first go around."

Hermione sighed. "Honestly, Ron. Next time you ruin an essay just tell me. A simple siphoning charm takes care of things like that in no time."

"I will. Blimey, sometimes it amazes me that we go to the same classes. But then, of course, you've got about twice as many."

Hermione's eyes flashed strangely. "What do you mean by that? Of course I don't. Don't be ridiculous."

He wasn't sure why she was suddenly so freaked out, but he knew when to stop pushing her buttons, too. Like she was prone to do, he decided to change the subject.

"It's been nice today."

She looked up at him. "It's been freezing!"

"No, I don't mean the weather. I mean the village – being here, shopping, looking around … it's been nice."

Hermione smiled and cocked her head to one side. "Yeah? I haven't minded it much either."

"Reckon it should be nice since we're best mates and all."

The words didn't seem significant to Ron, but by the way Hermione reacted it seemed as though he was singing her praises from the rooftops.

"Right. I suppose we are."


	37. Polyjuice Potion

**AN: Back to the story, then. I fondly refer to this chapter as the beginning of the end. We're getting close to finishing!**

**Oh and a quick apology – I had forgotten about the fact that Hermione stuffed the beaded bag down her sock when the snatchers came, not in her sleeve. I've fixed that in my earlier chapter.**

**I also want to give a HUGE thanks to all of the favoriters and followers and reviewers. For the ones who have stuck it through the whole time and for the new ones each time and for the incredible guest feedback I get I am so grateful! Thanks **

"A baby! Imagine!"

"I know. Sometimes I forget things like that exist anymore."

"Things like _babies?_"

"Oh, sod off. You knew what I meant."

Ron and Hermione walked towards the bench behind Shell Cottage as they'd made a habit of doing at least once per day now.

"I'm really happy for Lupin. Glad he's sorted out everything in his head."

"Me too. He's going to make an incredible dad."

They sat down side by side.

"Definitely. And even if Teddy had turned out to be a werewolf, I reckon Lupin's one of the best blokes around."

Hermione nodded her agreement. She was happy for Lupin and Tonks. Even so, she felt a heavy weight on her chest.

"Yeah. He is."

"What's wrong?"

She glanced up at Ron, staring worriedly down at her and wanted to cry. His was the worst possible face she could be looking into thinking things like this.

"What? Hermione, what is it?"

"Nothing, really. It's foolish."

Ron rolled his eyes. "How many times have you used that line? It's never foolish or stupid or anything else. Just tell me."

This was a topic they almost never addressed – maybe they'd mentioned it a few times in Hogwarts – a bit at the wedding – but she'd never come right out and discussed it with him. The idea of it made her blush.

"Really, Hermione, you can tell me."

"Er … it's just that I … this all just made me think that … well it's just a silly notion."

"Even if it is silly, I won't take the mickey, I promise."

"Well I haven't let myself think about the future much, you know, seeing that it was so uncertain. But tonight … with Lupin and Tonks, I just can't help thinking that I really, _really_ would like to be a mum."

Ron's voice was low when he spoke again. "Well that's nothing to take the mickey about, is it?"

She sighed and leaned into his arm.

"You know, Hermione, it's not weird that you think like that. I mean, watching Bill and Fleur and Tonks and Lupin – I really want that too. My whole life I've known I was going to be a dad. And now I can't be sure of that."

"Well you'd make a great one."

"And you'd make a great mum."

"Imagine a handful of little Ron's running around!"

He chuckled and made a noise somewhere between incredulousness and longing. "Not too many … but yeah … someday I'd like that a lot. And you – you'd have all your brilliant little Hermione's. They'd be fascinated by things like Arithmancy and Runes. And stubborn – no one would walk all over them."

"They sound like terrors!"

They chuckled, and Ron continued. "They wouldn't be. They'd be really kind. And the best friends anyone could ask for."

Hermione felt her heart flutter a bit, as it always did when Ron got sentimental like this. His arm slid around her back, and her head fell back on his shoulder.

"Yes … I suppose I could live with kids like that."

"They'd be great. Running around with their little Bulgarian accents…"

_Smack!_

"Ow, blimey, I was only joking!"

Hermione sat perfectly upright, glaring at Ron. "My children will not be Bulgarian, Ron."

His eyes widened and he nodded. "Right … I know."

"I'm not interested in marrying Krum, Ron."

She knew that he knew this, but it still made her stomach flip when he beamed at her words.

"I know you're not." She settled back into the curve of his arm.

"Besides. Such prodigious, stubborn, irritating children would be a tad overbearing with an accent like that."

Ron snorted. "Vell, profezzor, ze volfsbane potion eez very eezy to make, you zee, I am breelliant!"

Hermione sniggered. "You certainly win the prize for smashing together the largest number of accents. Did I hear a little French in there?"

"Runs in the family." Ron gestured to the window of Shell Cottage where his brother and French sister-in-law were asleep.

"Ah. Naturally."

"No, in all seriousness, you'll be a great mum, Hermione. And, for the record, I've never seen you in a fight where my money wasn't on you. I reckon you're getting out of this just fine. And you'll have your brood of prefects and head boys and girls that never get away with anything because their brilliant mum's the best in magical law the Ministry of Magic has ever seen."

Hermione could really picture this future – she would never have admitted it, but in her version of it, her brood of brilliant children was sporting shocks of ginger hair.

The next few days passed by either too slowly or too quickly – never at the right speed. Finalising all of their plans reminded Hermione of Grimmauld Place and the Ministry. That had been nerve-wracking, to be sure, but nothing compared to the feat they were about to attempt.

The morning of their venture into Gringotts was colder than Hermione liked. She was already shaking from fear – and she couldn't afford to be. No one would buy a trembling Bellatrix Lestrange.

Hermione sat on her side of the small room, staring into the putrid polyjuice potion. It was black – as black as unicorns were white. She sniffed it once and dry heaved, but knew that she needed to drink it all. They had to ensure the longest disguise they could.

She performed a charm on her tongue to temper the taste, but it wasn't very effective and the smell alone could do her in. Finally, she plugged her nose and swallowed. Her eyes watered and her chest backfired, urging her to retch it back up. Still, she chugged the rest in three large gulps.

Hermione could already feel the pain and discomfort of morphing into another person, but it was nothing compared to actually drinking the stuff. This change felt stranger than any previously – even the cat. She felt herself growing in stature and presence. And when she looked in the mirror, she shivered.

She was already holding them up, so Hermione hurried out to meet the boys on the front lawn.

"She tasted _disgusting_, worse than Gurdyroots!" she said as she reached them, ignoring the glances of disdain in her direction; Bellatrix's effect was overwhelming. "Okay, Ron, come here so I can do you…."

"Right, but remember, I don't like the beard too long." He came to stand in front of her, still looking rather alarmed by her transformation.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, this isn't about looking handsome!"

"It's not that, it gets in the way! But I like my nose a bit shorter, try and do it the way you did last time."

She rolled her eyes, but was glad that he was acting like himself at least. Even she had a difficult time looking at herself in the mirror.

Hermione set to work on each of Ron's features. It always made her nervous to do things like this – too much steady eye contact and unabashed studying of his face. Since she generally only ever snuck glances at him. Allowing herself to stare right at him felt wrong and indulgent.

Ron's ginger crop of hair became a straw coloured mane. His long, slightly crooked nose shrunk back into his skull and widened while the freckles on it vanished. His eyebrows and mustache came in fully, hiding much of his face.

"There. How does he look, Harry?"

"Well, he's not my type, but he'll do." Ron and Hermione chuckled and Hermione's laugh came out sounding all wrong. She stopped immediately. "Shall we go, then?"

Passed the Fidelius Charm borders, they disapparated to the Leaky Cauldron. Hermione barely had a moment to feel nostalgic before Harry hurried them into the pub. Tom's eyes flashed apprehensively as they entered.

"Madam Lestrange." He inclined his head slightly.

"Good morning."

He looked alarmed and she didn't need Harry's hissed, "_Too polite_!" to know that she had slipped up. "_You need to treat people like they're scum!"_

Hermione shivered just thinking about acting like Bellatrix, but she knew that it was necessary for their plan to work.

"Okay, okay!"

Her heart sank the moment she stepped foot on the cobbled pathway. The ice cream parlour, cauldron shop, Ollivander's and even Flourish and Blotts were all boarded up. Harry's wanted poster leered down at them from every angle and new shops with names like, "Jordan's Book Shop: Everything to know about the Dark Arts" were stationed in each corner.

Of all the depressing changes, none made Hermione more revolted that the throngs of people in rags, begging for coins, insisting their magic lineage.

"I got me 'ogwarts acceptance le'er just like everyone else!"

She wanted to weep and do whatever she could to fix it. However, they vanished on sight of her so she could scarcely get near enough anyways.

Hermione hated the feeling of being hated. One man in particular with a red spotted bandage over her eyes kept shooting her looks of pure loathing. She was about to say something to Harry when he came hobbling over.

"MY CHILDREN!" She had never heard such a voice – broken and shrill. "Where are my children? What has he done with them? You know! You know!"

_Keep calm. Keep calm._

"I … I really –"

He jumped at her and she could almost see the face of Greyback going for her throat. She was too stunned to move or say a word. However, in the next instance, the man flew back with a blast of red light.

Hermione was simultaneously relieved and heart broken – whoever that man was, Voldemort had taken his family and most likely killed them all. As foolhardy as it would be to fling himself at the real Bellatrix, she didn't blame him in the slightest. Even though she knew it wasn't really her fault, Hermione felt a bizarre responsibility to him and a desperate desire to make everything right.

"Why, Madam Lestrange!"

She stiffened and, barely clinging to her cover, managed to turn slowly and stare at the man with the contempt she had practiced in the mirror for days. In her best impression of Bellatrix, she said, "And what do you want?"

He looked offended and taken aback. Obviously this was the wrong tone. Now their cover was probably blown. She wanted to grab Ron and Harry and get out of there.

_"He's another death eater – Travers."_

Harry's whisper was barely audible but enough to calm her down.

"I merely sought to greet you. But if my presence is not welcome…"

"No, no, not at all, Travers. How are you?"

The words felt too civil coming off her tongue, but the man looked mollified.

"Well, I confess I am surprised to see you out and about, Bellatrix."

"Really? Why?"

"Well … I _heard_ that the inhabitants of Malfoy Manor were confined to the house, after the … ah … escape."

_What were we thinking?_

Hermione's brain was urging her to go into overdrive like she always did in a crisis. However, she remembered Malfoy Manor and knew that she couldn't afford to panic. Steeling up all of the false arrogance and pride that Bellatrix's identity gave her, she said, "The Dark Lord forgives those who have served him most faithfully in the past. Perhaps your credit is not as good with him as mine is, Travers."

She felt both reassured and sickened at how uncannily like Bellatrix her words sounded.

Travers glanced around and caught sight of the man on the ground.

"How did it offend you?"

_It?_

"It does not matter. It will not do so again."

"Some of these wandless can be troublesome. While they do nothing but beg I have no objection, but one of them actually asked me to plead her case at the Ministry last week. _'I'm a witch, sir, I'm a witch, let me prove it to you!' _As if I was going to give her my wand."

Hermione tried her best to look appropriately appalled.

"But whose wand are you using at the moment, Bellatrix? I heard that your own was…"

"I have my wand here." Hermione's did not have to falsify the ice in her tone, now. "I don't know what rumors you have been listening to, Travers, but you seem sadly misinformed."

The man looked too suspicious for comfort, but, thankfully, he dropped the subject.

"Who is your friend? I do not recognize him."

This part was easy – something she had rehearsed.

"This is Dragomir Despard. He speaks very little English, but he is in sympathy with the Dark Lord's aims. He has traveled here from Transylvania to see our new regime."

"Indeed? How do you do, Dragomir?"

Hermione felt sickened that within minutes Travers had gone from a pitiless, despicable monster of a man to a charming, polite gentleman all because of presumed blood status.

"'Ow you?"

She took it back when Travers looked nauseated even to touch Ron's hand. Apparently foreign blood was tainted too.

"So what brings you and your – ah – sympathetic friend to Diagon Alley this early?"

"I need to visit Gringotts."

"Alas, I also. Gold, filthy gold! We cannot live without it, yet I confess I deplore the necessity of consorting with our long-fingered friends."

Hermione resisted the urge to visibly cringe. Griphook couldn't take well to that.

"Shall we?"

_How to get rid of him now?_

She walked in silence and tried not to breathe too hard or touch him at all. Somehow their plan would have to go forwards, but at this point she had no idea how to make it happen. They reached the steps of the bank and, as expected, the two wizards stepped towards them.

"Ah, Probity Probes. So crude. But effective!"

Hermione had a bizarre desire to giggle at the name 'probity probe' but she resisted. They moved forward to inspect her and, nervously, she waited for the distance in their eyes that would mean Harry had confunded them.

"One moment, madam." The guard wielding the probe looked confused as to why he was.

"But you've just done that."

"Yeah, you've just checked them, Marius."

Hermione breathed an internal sigh of relief and tried to ignore the fact that Travers had just witnessed the men bypass scanning her. And who could mistake the look in their eyes? Certainly not a trained dark wizard.

Pretending nothing was amiss, Hermione continued into the bank where a long table stood, manned by goblins. They needed for Travers to go first, so she hung back. When it was clear that Travers would wait for her anyways, she pulled Ron aside.

"What you can see of Gringotts is barely a fraction of the structure," she said, and Ron smirked a little. He managed to look interested, though, and she continued, describing each of the features in sight.

Once Travers had his key back, Hermione stepped up.

"Madam Lestrange! Dear me! How … how may I help you today?"

"I wish to enter my vault."

Something about their shrewd eyes left Hermione in no doubt that, should anyone discover them, it would be a goblin.

"You have … identification?"

"Identification? I – I have never been asked for identification before!"

She could see their suspicion. They knew that something was wrong.

"Your wand will do, madam."

They had been warned. They knew that Bellatrix's wand had been stolen and they were going to be caught. Caught – and tortured? Her stomach dropped, but she could do nothing now except hand it over.

"Ah, you have had a new wand made, Madam Lestrange?"

Hermione frowned – she hadn't expected that in the slightest. "What? No … no, that's mine –"

"A new wand? But how could you have done, which wandmaker did you use?"

Hermione was at a complete loss for what was going on. She could only stand silently as Travers held out a hand and inspected her wand.

"Oh yes. I see. Yes, very handsome. And is it working well? I always think wands require a little breaking in, don't you?"

Regardless of the fact that Hermione felt the situation spinning rapidly out of their control, she forced herself to simply nod. The goblin that had inspected the wand in the first place clapped his hands and gestured a younger goblin over.

"I shall need the Clankers." The other goblin brought them back moments later. "Good, good! So, if you will follow me, Madam Lestrange, I shall take you to your vault."

Hermione had done nothing but look fearfully between the goblin and Travers. Now, though, she glanced over her shoulder to find Ron regarding her anxiously. He shrugged and, imperceptible to anyone else, sidled forward enough to brush his hand against hers.

It was small, but it was enough for her to slow her breathing and control the baffled expression on her face.

"Wait, Bogrod!"

Another goblin ran towards the one who'd inspected the wand. Hermione tensed – their faulty story could only hold against so many. Assuming it was holding at all.

"We have instructions. Forgive me, Madam, but there have been special orders regarding the vault of Lestrange."

He leaned over to whisper to the first goblin.

"I am aware of the instructions. Madam Lestrange wishes to visit her vault … Very old family … old clients … this way, please."

With gaping holes in their story, no idea what Harry or Ron might be thinking, no way to communicate with them and a sinking feeling that told her this would not end well, Hermione followed them back.


	38. the Dragon

**AN: My dear, patient readers. Turns out I accidentally uploaded the first part of this chapter. I would just replace the content, but I feel awful that everyone following it clicked to see an update and got less than three hundred words! So here is the real one, hope you enjoy, and I apologize most profusely. **

The heavy door clanged shut and Ron felt utterly trapped.

"We're in trouble, they suspect."

"Harry, he's just standing there."

"He just led us back here!"

"What's going on…"

"They're imperiused."

Ron and Hermione fell silent and exchanged alarmed glances.

"I don't think I did it strongly enough. I don't know…"

How many times could that heavy feeling of reality smash down on one person's shoulders in so short a time?

"What do we do? Shall we get out now, while we can?" Ron's tone was lighter than he thought himself capable of.

"If we can."

"We've got this far. I say we go on." Harry's tone was final.

What else could they do? Ron knew that Harry was right, but he didn't much fancy the idea of whatever might lie before them.

"Good! So, we need Bogrod to control the cart; I no longer have the authority. But there will not be room for the wizard."

"Imperio."

Ron couldn't help the shiver that ran up his spine to hear Harry say the curse. Travers trotted off.

"What are you making him do?"

"Hide."

He tried to ignore the distant yelling as the three of them climbed into the back of the cart. Hermione was trembling slightly beside him and, feeling her fingers against his in the darkness, he shifted only a little to cover her hand with his.

As the cart gathered speed, Ron began to wonder if, of all the unpleasantries they'd faced so far, this one was the worst. His felt a violent urge to be sick. The only thought he could process into action was that of keeping from crushing Hermione's fingers under his tightening grip. It provided almost a relief from the cold fear of their demise – Ron found himself more concerned with the fear of hurling up his intestines.

After one particularly nasty turn, Ron was dismayed to see a pounding waterfall in front of them.

_What bleeding madness…._

He only had a moment to process the gallons of water crashing down on him when they were suddenly flying from the cart.

To come all this way and end up squashed on the rocky floor below seemed like a horrible way to die and he was tremendously relieved when they landed softly, without harm. He turned immediately to Hermione who had fallen on her backside.

"C-cushioning charm," she told him, shivering, as he pulled her up. Something was odd, though, and with a sinking feeling he realised that she looked like Hermione again. His face felt naked as well – all of their disguises were gone.

"The Thief's Downfall! It washes away all enchantment, all magical concealment! They know there are impostors in Gringotts, they have set off defenses against us!"

Ron's heart accelerated with the familiar feeling of hopelessness. Knowing that Hermione was probably close to hysterics with how badly their meticulous plan had gone awry, he reached out and squeezed her wrist lightly.

He had been right. At his touch, Hermione's breathing slowed and steadied. She checked to make sure she still had her handbag. Discovering that she did, she breathed a sigh of relief.

"We'll be fine," he whispered and she shot him a look of gratitude.

"Aren't we always?"

"We need him. We cannot enter the vault without a Gringotts goblin. And we need the Clankers."

They glanced up to see Bogrod coming back to his senses.

"Imperio."

Ron and Hermione both cringed again to see Harry say it, even if they knew it was necessary. Ron walked over and picked up the back with the clankers.

"Harry, I think I can hear people coming."

Ron glanced over at Hermione as she pointed her wand at the waterfall and yelled, "Protego!"

As usual, he was amazed at how effective her magic was, the shield charm breaking the stream of the waterfall and filling the opening.

"Good thinking. Lead the way, Griphook!"

"How are we going to get out again?"

"Let's worry about that when we have to." Ron wasn't too chuffed to hear that answer, but he fell silent anyway. "Griphook, how much farther?"

"Not far, Harry Potter, not far."

Not for the first time, Ron felt a creeping sense of suspicion towards the swarthy goblin.

"Merlin's holy beard." Ron murmured. As they rounded the corner, a dragon crouched pathetically before them. Pale, white and full of scars, Ron felt a stab of pity. He could only imagine how outraged Hermione would be at the scene.

All sympathy left him, then, as it reared its head and blew fire straight at them. Instinctively, he dove between it and Hermione and felt his leg hairs singing as they ran up the passageway.

"It's partially blind, but even more savage for that. However, we have the means to control. It has learned what to expect when the Clankers come. Give them to me."

He handed out the Clankers and Ron noticed that Hermione's expression was faintly queasy. He knew that she was probably barely containing her outrage at the dragon's condition.

"You know what to do. It will expect pain when it hears the noise. It will retreat, and Bogrod must place his palm upon the door of the vault."

Ron shot a look at Hermione who looked near tears. He reached out and opened his hand for her Clanker. Gratefully, she surrendered it, and Ron shook two as they advanced.

He tried not to look at the dragon trembling in the corner, face mutilated.

"Make him press his hand to the door!"

The door melted away and Ron froze. Floor to ceiling treasure, gold, expensive potions and armour – more value in this small space than he'd ever seen in his life. He felt a bizarre desire to cry and embarrassedly pushed it away.

"Search fast!"

A large metallic thud resounded in Ron's gut as the door sealed shut, and he shouted his surprise.

"No matter, Bogrod will be able to release us! Light your wands, can't you? And hurry, we have very little time!"

"Lumos."

Harry's wand light fell upon the vault's content and, lighting their own wands, they began to search for the cup.

"Harry, could this be – AARGH!"

Ron spun around in time to see piles of goblets cascading from Hermione's hand.

"It burned me," she whimpered.

He struggled his way over the piles between them to her side, holding out his hand for hers.

"They have added Gemino and Flagrante curses! Everything you touch will burn and multiply, but the copies are worthless. And if you continue to handle the treasure, you will eventually be crushed to death by the weight of the expanding gold!"

"Okay, don't touch anything!" Harry cried, and Ron thought again how futile this whole thing was. Even then, he accidentally nudged one of the goblets and a dozen or so more were scattered across the floor.

"Stand still, don't move!" Hermione said, holding his arm down.

"Just look around! Remember, the cup's small and gold, it's got a badger engraved on it, two handles – otherwise see if you can spot Ravenclaw's symbol anywhere – the eagle…"

Craning their necks, they looked over everything. When they could see nothing more from their same stance, they cautiously pivoted in a circle. Harry accidentally touched some galleons and by now they could hardly stand anywhere – Hermione had one foot atop Ron's and barely any room for her other.

"It's there! It's up there!"

They directed their wands and, sure enough, there was the cup exactly as Harry had described.

"And how the hell are we going to get up there without touching anything?" Ron said, forgetting to curb his frustration.

"Accio cup!"

Hermione lost her footing as she finished the spell, and Ron slid his arm around her in an attempt to steady her.

"No use, no use!"

"Then what do we do? If you want the sword, Griphook, then you'll have to help us more than … wait! Can I touch stuff with the sword? Hermione, give it here!"

Drawing out her bag, Hermione did as she was told and handed the sword to Harry.

"If I can just poke the sword through a handle – but how am I supposed to get up there?"

The sound of more Clankers was getting close and Ron knew they only had moments in this furnace of a vault, surrounded by inanimate objects waiting to sear their flesh off, unable to reach the one item they'd come for.

"Hermione. I've got to get up there, we've got to get rid of it."

Puzzled, Ron glanced between the two of them as Hermione, shaking, raised her wand.

"Levicorpus."

Chaos erupted as Harry's floating body smashed into a suit of armour – which multiplied – sending the rest of them flying into other objects, trapped in the rising pile of blistering metal. They were all screaming, but Hermione raised her wand and cried, "Impervius!"

Ron could hear Harry's unintelligible words and a horrific scream from Bogrod but nothing was processing aside from the clanking, the heat and his horror as he watched Hermione sink deeper and deeper into it.

The vault door opened and boiling treasure came pouring out, all five of them tumbling along with it. All Ron could think to do was find Hermione in the mass and cling to her with all of his strength.

"Thieves! Thieves! Help! Thieves!"

Puzzled and finally able to see the crowd around them, Ron stared at Griphook with disgust and fury. The traitorous goblin entered the mob of his kind without protest from any of them. Ron reached down and pulled Hermione to her feet and then all three of them raised their wands.

"Stupefy!"

"Stupefy!"

"Stupefy!"

Several goblins toppled, but they were outnumbered and far more advanced. Wizards were coming, now, too, and Ron wondered just how they'd get out of this one, especially when a burst of flame shooting over his head reminded him that they were trapped on all sides.

"Relashio!"

Startled, Ron turned in time to see Harry's wand directed at the chains holding the dragon down. _What the bleeding –_

"This way!" Harry ran _towards_ the goblin and Ron could only assume that he had finally lost it.

"Harry – Harry what are you doing?"  
>Ron's thoughts echoed Hermione's inquiry.<p>

"Get up, climb on, come on!"

He gaped as Harry scrambled up the leg of the thing. Finally, like he'd learned to do so well, he followed Harry.

He and Hermione arrived just in time for him to help her up and then pull himself up behind her, thinking all the while that he must be mad.

The dragon raised itself onto its haunches and Ron felt the increasingly familiar sting of his impending doom. He clung to the scales of the dragon, closed his eyes and prayed to whatever force existed that he would not die by way of inability to hold on to a dragon.

"We'll never get out! It's too big!"

Ron cracked his eyes open and noted that, indeed, the dragon was far too big to fit through the slender opening before them. Even if it could somehow squeeze through, they would be nothing more than squashed insects.

Apparently this dragon was more self-sufficient than they'd anticipated. With a great roar, it opened its mouth and blew a flame to rival those previously, carving out a large enough entrance.

This time, Ron couldn't close his eyes, entranced by the scene enfolding before him. The dragon was tearing away rock and huge chunks of the cave wall, slithering its way out.

"Defodio!"

Ron stared in awe as a jet of light shot from Hermione's wand and enlarged the entrance of the hole.

Harry and Ron wasted no time in helping her. The work went much quicker after that, the distance between them and the goblins growing steadily larger. Finally, with a lurch that made Ron hold to the dragon with both hands again, they were in the entrance hall of the securest wizarding bank in the world.

A moment later they were in the streets and then, with a leap, they launched into the air.

Ron's stomach flew into his brain and choked his throat and something was about to come out – he was mildly surprised when he was cursing and he couldn't stop, he could only hold on to Hermione, gripping her hands as she sobbed.

At any moment they could be thrown off, but like the lucky blighters they were, they'd escaped yet another impossible situation. Ron buried his face in Hermione's hair and, still weeping a little, she leaned back into him.

The dragon moved steadily higher and, intimidating as the idea of being thrown off a dragon was, and as cold as the air up there was, there were few feelings that had ever compared to flying through the air on the back of a dragon with Hermione leaning into his chest and holding his hands sweetly to her stomach.

However, it was only so long of this before Ron was seriously worried. The air was thin and he couldn't feel any of his extremities.

"What do you reckon it's looking for?"

"No idea!"

Ron secured his arms more firmly around Hermione knowing that she must be freezing. He was surprised, leaning in, to hear soft, even breathing that meant she had fallen asleep. Her grip slackened on Harry's waist and Ron (without complaint) held her more firmly between the two of them.

Time passed in a daze. Ron occasionally dozed a bit, but mostly just closed his eyes and allowed himself a moment to not worry, think or do anything except feel. It was clichéd and he wouldn't have admitted it aloud, but it filled him with overwhelming exhilaration.

He opened his eyes for a moment and looked to the side. His stomach jolted. The ground was growing larger.

"Is it my imagination or are we losing height?"

It was a rhetorical question. It was obvious, now, as the landscape beneath them became sharper that they were indeed spiraling to the ground.

"I say we jump when it gets low enough! Straight into the water before it realises we're here!"

Hermione was awake, now, as Ron heard her murmur her hesitant agreement.

"NOW!"

For a wild moment, Ron didn't know if he would actually do it. Then, as Hermione began to slide, he thought that there was no chance he was letting her fall without him.

They plummeted to the surface and the sensation in his gut was like skipping an entire Hogwarts staircase. The wind whistled through his ears and then, with a great crash, he hit the water. It was freezing and it seemed as though his entire system collapsed as he shot further and further beneath the waves.

When he finally broke the surface, gasping and spluttering, he saw Harry and Hermione bobbing next to him. Harry cried something unintelligible but Ron gathered that he wanted them to swim to the shore opposite that of the dragon's landing place.

Choking for air, he began to swim.


	39. On the Shore

**AN: Hey guys – I'm trying to get this update out there as fast as I can since the last chapter was so complicated and took so long. **

**Also, if you were disappointed by the shoddy length of last chapter, good news! It was a mistake and, if you didn't see it when I first fixed it, has been posted in its complete form. I would recommend reading the finished version of that before moving onto this. **

**Anyway, moving on. Love you guys - Review please and THANK YOU! :) They fuel my writing. **

Hermione collapsed on the shore with every intention of lying there until she died. Even the hypothetical concept of moving exhausted her. Ron slumped down beside her and touched her elbow in what, she assumed, was a weak attempt to make sure she was still alive. They gasped back to coherence for a moment before Ron spoke.

"You look horrible."

Her head snapped up and away from where his fingers had begun to play with her hair. "_You_ look horrible."

He chuckled – or, wheezed, more like. "No, 'ermione, look." His hand lifted hers gently and she saw, for the first time, the angry red burns across it. Now that he'd brought it to her notice, the pain was beginning to sink in.

"Ow. Oh Merlin, _ow_."

She heard him mutter something after that, but she was in too much pain to wonder what it was. A moment later, his hand slipped into hers. Before she could squeeze it (really, really hard) something fell into her palm and his hand was gone.

Painfully, she twisted to see what it was.

"Oh Ron. I love you." With a great deal of effort, she sat up and began to apply the Dittany to her many burns.

"You too." He smiled and lay, cringing, on his back with his eyes closed.

It was her first chance to get a good look at him and her jaw clenched. He looked worse than she did, she was sure. He was covered completely and she knew it probably had something to do with the fact that, in the vault, he'd thrown himself around her in sort of a human shield.

"Here, Ron, you need this more than I do."

Barely moving, he shook his head.

"'m all right."

She knew that he wouldn't cave, so she finished as quickly as she could and handed the bottle to him.

"Thank you."

He sat up, grunting and wincing, and began to apply the potion. "Dittany. Brilliant. This has to be the most useful potion in the world."

"Oh I don't know. I could do with some Felix right about now."

Ron's eyes got a dreamy look in them. "Felix. Best moments of my life."

"Oh, come off it, you know you only _felt_ lucky."

"Right, but Hermione" – his face took on a grave quality – "I _felt_ it, you know? I can only imagine what the real stuff is like."

She laughed at how intensely he felt about it. "Probably a bit mad, if you think about it. Harry was acting like a lunatic."

"Only because it was guiding him, you know?"

They both looked up at the boy in question, burned as badly as they were, but still staggering around, putting up the protective enchantments.

"He'll do it, you know?"

Hermione knew exactly what Ron meant and she nodded her agreement.

"Of course he will. It's so funny because, hopeless as it all seemed and even when it felt like it might take years, I always knew he wouldn't fail."

Ron handed back the little bottle and she reapplied the potion to some of her particularly severe burns.

"Exactly. It's weird, really, how of all the people that could have been prophesied to face off against You-Know-Who, it just happened to be the one that stood a fighting chance."

Hermione was embarrassed to admit how attractive she found Ron's periodic moments of insight. He looked over at her and she flushed and looked away.

"Hermione –"

Harry stumbled to the ground beside them. They jumped a little, reminded of the task at hand. All business now, Hermione passed him the Dittany and looked for some clean robes.

Once they'd changed, Hermione handed them each a bottle of pumpkin juice. While they drank with satisfied sighs, she tried to form a plan. Now that Griphook had the sword, she had no idea how they could destroy the cup. She was exhausted and could not think straight enough to form any sort of coherent list of substances that might destroy a horcrux.

"Well, on the upside, we got the horcrux. On the downside …."

"No sword."

"No sword. That-double crossing little scab."

For once, Hermione had no desire to defend a member of the mistreated race.

Harry pulled out the cup and laid it on the ground in front of them. They eyed it suspiciously.

"At least we can't wear it this time, that'd look a bit weird hanging round our necks."

Lost in thought, Hermione gazed at the dragon across the shore, its gruesome scars barely visible.

"What'll happen to it, do you think? Will it be all right?"

Ron and Harry looked incredulously back at her.

"You sound like Hagrid. It's a dragon, Hermione, it can look after itself. It's us we need to worry about."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I don't know how to break this to you, but I think they _might_ have noticed we broke into Gringotts."

They started laughing and that felt wonderful, so they didn't stop for a long time. It was exhausting – Hermione's mouth and ribs ached, but she couldn't remember the last time she had been this happy.

However, thinking about how long it had been since they'd been like this made her think of the reason they usually weren't, which was a concern she found herself unable to ignore.

"What are we going to do, though? He'll know, won't he? You-Know-Who will know we know about his Horcruxes!" Saying it aloud made it worse.

"Maybe they'll be too scared to tell him? Maybe they'll cover up the whole thing since, I mean, let's be honest, He doesn't really take well to people stealing portions of his soul."

Hermione chuckled, but reality was real and sharp and amusement was short lived. She sighed and looked at Harry who was closing his eyes. Judging by the pained expression he wore, she wasn't the only one still worrying.

"No, he doesn't …." She trailed off, looking closer at Harry. "Ron!"

Harry began to spasm and, even though she knew exactly what was happening, it didn't stop her from wishing she could intervene. Ron's expression told her that he agreed.

"I wish this would stop happening."

"I know. I reckon it's awful."

"Of course it is … I wish he'd learned to control it."

They fell silent, not having much desire to speak as Harry began muttering inaudibly.

"Blimey, I haven't seen it this bad before."

Hermione was terrified. Regardless of how useful Harry's connection to Voldemort may someday be, she couldn't deny that it made her skin crawl to think of the two of them having anything in common. Not to mention, it obviously terrorized Harry to endure it.

"Nor have I."

Like they had learned, all there was to do was wait it out. When Harry finally did open his eyes, Hermione sighed in relief. It was short lived, however, when the first words out of his mouth were, "He knows. He knows, and he's going to check here the others are, and the last one is in Hogwarts. I knew it. I _knew_ it."

"What?"

"But what did you see? How do you know?"

"I saw him find out about the cup, I – I was in his head, he's … he's seriously angry and scared too, he can't understand how we knew, and now he's going to check the others are safe, the ring first. He thinks the Hogwarts one is safest, because Snape's there, because it'll be so hard not to be seen getting in, I think he'll check that one last, but he could still be there within hours –"

"Did you see where in Hogwarts it is?"

Ron and Harry were both on their feet. Hermione looked between them, mystified.

"No, he was concentrating on warning Snape, he didn't think about exactly where it is –"

"Wait, _wait!_" They were in a flurry of motion, and all Hermione could think about was how they were definitely not ready. "We can't just go, we haven't got a plan, we need to …"

"We need to get going. Can you imagine what he's going to do once he realizes the ring and the locket are gone? What if he moves the Hogwarts Horcrux, decides it isn't safe enough?"

"But how are we going to get in?"

"We'll go to Hogsmeade and try to work something out once we see what the protection around the school's like. Get under the Cloak, Hermione, I want to stick together this time."

"But we don't really fit …"

"It'll be dark, no one's going to notice our feet."

They were looking at her, as they so often did, like she worried too much. Were they forgetting how frequently her worrying saved them? Still, as much as she hated running head long into a crisis with nothing to go on, she trusted Harry.

Her reverie was interrupted by the sound of the dragon taking off. They glanced up to watch it. It seemed rather symbolic, but she was too panicked to figure out exactly how. It was enough that, with no more protests, she walked forward and stood between Harry and Ron.

Harry pulled the cloak over them, they linked arms, and Hermione raised her wand. She squeezed her eyes shut and thought about home.

It was exactly as she remembered. Her eyes landed on the Three Broomsticks and for one moment she was lost in nostalgia and then,

_AHHHHHHHHHHHHH!_

The scream reverberated through her skull and chest and toes and neck – she felt it everywhere and, as death eaters ran from all sides, she thought that _everything _had changed.

"Accio Cloak!"

How did they know? Voldemort must have warned them … Hermione resisted the urge to go into hopeless panic mode.

"Not in your wrapper, then, Potter? Spread out – he's here."

Death eaters came towards them and Hermione had to remind herself that they were invisible as they backed down the nearest side street. There they stood, breathing as quietly as they could.

The death eaters were searching with magic, shooting light up and down the streets, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to get away.

"Let's just leave! Disapparate now!"

"Great idea."

"We know you're here, Potter, and there's no getting way! We'll find you!"

"They were ready for us. They set up that spell to tell them we'd come. I reckon they've done something to keep us here, trap us –"

"What about dementors? Let 'em have free rein, they'd find him quick enough!"

"The Dark Lord wants Potter dead by no hand but his –"

"– an' dementors won't kill him! The Dark Lord wants Potter's life, not his soul. He'll be easier to kill if he's been Kissed first!"

Ron's hand found Hermione's, and she squeezed harder than was probably necessary. They couldn't let dementors find them – the very idea made her shudder. But patronuses would give their position away.

"We're going to have to try and disapparate, Harry."

They could feel the dementors approaching.

Still holding Ron's hand, she grabbed Harry's arm and turned on the spot. She was not at all surprised when, as though they'd hit a wall, they couldn't turn any further. She cursed herself for not studying anti-apparation charms more thoroughly.

Dementors were closing in and, like caged animals, they moved swiftly, silently backwards. It was a dead end. Hermione felt Harry shift, and looked over in time to see him raise his arm.

_We're done for._

"Expecto Patronum."

The crushing depression disappeared, but it was not followed by the usual relief.

"It's him, down there, down there, I saw his Patronus! It was a stag!"

Hermione couldn't believe that this was the end – it never was – but she also wasn't sure how they'd get out of the situation.

_Screech._

The sound of a heavy door opening made Hermione turn as a voice followed, "Potter, in here, quick!"

None of them worried for a moment that they might be running into trap. They blindly obeyed, running towards the sound.

"Upstairs, keep the Cloak on, keep quiet."

She barely registered that they were in the Hog's Head before the bartender (she'd only just recognized) led them in the back and pointed at a door. They darted through it and up a staircase. Somehow they didn't lose the Cloak and somehow she didn't lose her grip on Ron's hand.

They finally stopped in a dusty sitting room. Hermione, unable to stand it any longer, doubled over and clutched the stitch in her side. When she stood, it was to see a large, sweet painting of a young girl taking up the majority of the focus in the room. Hermione was so entranced by it that she almost didn't notice when Ron and Harry moved to peer out the window.

The bartender stood against a wall of death eaters.

"So what? So what? You send dementors down my street, I'll send a Patronus back at 'em! I'm not having 'em near me, I've told you, I'm not having it!"

"That wasn't your Patronus! That was a stag, it was Potter's!"

"Stag! Stag! You idiot! Expecto Patronum!"

A Patronus goat jumped from his wand and ran down a deserted street.

"That's not what I saw…"

"Curfew's been broken, you heard the noise. Someone was out in the street against regulations."

"If I want to put my cat out, I will, and be damned to your curfew!"

"_You_ set off the Caterwauling Charm?"

"What if I did? Going to cart me off to Azkaban? Kill me for sticking my nose out my own front door? Do it, then, if you want to! But I hope for your sakes you haven't pressed your little Dark Marks and summoned him. He's not going to like being called here for me and my old cat, is he, now?"

"Don't you worry about us. Worry about yourself breaking curfew!"

"And where will you lot traffick potions and poisons when my pub's closed down? What'll happen to your little sidelines then?"

"Are you threatening –"

"I keep my mouth shut, it's why you come here, isn't it?"

"I still say I saw a stag Patronus!"

"Stag? It's a goat, idiot!"

"All right, we made a mistake. Break curfew again and we won't be so lenient."

They were leaving – _Merlin_, they were leaving!

Sighing in relief, Hermione lifted the Cloak off of herself and went to sit in a nearby chair. It was just in time as her legs didn't feel like they could stand for any longer. Aside from the soles of their shoes that were only barely visible beneath the bottom of the Cloak, Ron and Harry stayed invisible for a moment longer.

The curtains closed, seemingly of their own accord, and then they were standing before her. She buried her face in her hands. A few seconds later, Ron was standing behind her with a hand on her shoulder.

"You bloody fools." She looked up as the bartender stormed in. "What were you thinking coming here?"

"Thank you. We can't thank you enough. You saved our lives."

Harry moved towards him.

"It's your eye I've been seeing in the mirror."

Surprised, Hermione and Ron glanced anxiously between the two of them.

"You sent Dobby."

The old man nodded. "Though he'd be with you. Where've you left him?"

"He's dead. Bellatrix Lestrange killed him."

There was a long pause.

"I'm sorry to hear it. I liked that elf."

He turned and busied himself lighting lamps. Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance – she was glad that she wasn't the only one confused as to what was going on.

"You're Aberforth." The name sounded familiar, but Hermione couldn't place it. "How did you get this?"

Harry moved over to stand by a small mirror beneath the painting of the girl.

"Bought it from Dung 'bout a year ago. Albus told me what it was. Been trying to keep an eye out for you."

Ron gasped at the same moment that Hermione made the connection. Aberforth _Dumbledore._

"The silver doe! Was that you, too?"

"What are you talking about?"

"Someone sent a doe Patronus to us!"

"Brains like that, you could be a Death Eater, son. Haven't I just proved my Patronus is a goat?"

"Oh … Yeah, well, I'm hungry!"

Hermione smiled fondly over at him. He caught the look, smirked and shrugged.

"I got food."

She didn't realize how famished she was until Aberfooth returned with a loaf of bread, cheese and mead. They gathered around the table and ate in silence until they were full.

"Right then. We need to think of the best way to get you out of here. Can't be done by night, you heard what happens if anyone moves outdoors during darkness: Caterwauling Charm's set off, they'll be onto you like bowtruckles on doxy eggs…"

Ron's hand found hers under the table. How many times had he grabbed her hand? And when would it stop making her heart stop? He made her feel extremely sappy _all the time_ and she found her gaze flitting to his mouth.

"We're not leaving. We need to get into Hogwarts."

"Don't be stupid, boy."

"We've got to."

"What you've got to do is to get as far from here as you can."

"You don't understand. There isn't much time. We've got to get into the castle. Dumbledore – I mean, your brother – wanted us –"

"My brother Albus wanted a lot of things and people had a habit of getting hurt while he was carrying out his grand plans. You get away from this school, Potter, and out of the country if you can. Forget my brother and his clever schemes. He's gone where none of this can hurt him, and you don't owe him anything."

Hermione wanted to hit the old man. Didn't he know how fragile Harry's faith in their mission already was? This couldn't be making his hesitations any easier to combat.

"You don't understand."

"Oh, don't I? You don't think I understood my own brother? Think you knew Albus better than I did?"

"I didn't mean that. It's … he left me a job."

"Did he now? Nice job, I hope? Pleasant? Easy? Sort of thing you'd expect an unqualified wizard kid to be able to do without overstretching themselves?"

Ron snorted, and Hermione grimaced. Aside from Ron's Auntie Muriel she'd never felt such a desire to be disrespectful to an elderly person before. She wanted him to shut up, and she desperately wanted to tell him so.

"I – it's not easy, no. But I've got to –"

"Got to?' Why '_got to_'? He's dead, isn't he? Let it go, boy, before you follow him! Save yourself!"

Hermione hoped with her whole heart that Harry would have the strength to disregard these last plantings of doubt. She stared at him as if to will, with her eyes, resolve back into him.

"I can't."


	40. Home Again

**AN: Hello to some of my most favorite people in the world that I've never met **** I am extremely sorry for the wait – college, apparently, is as hard as everyone says. I have no doubt, however, that you all had better things to do than read this anyway, but, nevertheless, I apologize. **

**Since I haven't done a disclaimer in a while, just making sure you know this is all J.K.'s. The good stuff, anyway. This chapter is fairly direct-quote laden. All credit to J.K.R. of course. Now on to the story!**

Ron and Hermione stared, baffled, at the retreating form of Ariana's portrait.

"But what…?"

She was already returning, and Ron had to squint his eyes to make out her shape. As he looked closer, he realized that she was not alone. He recognized Neville and, for a moment, was elated to see his long-time dormitory-mate and friend. The excitement was short lived, however, when he could see all of Neville's face.

"Neville – what the – how –?"

The boy cheered as he rushed forward to embrace them. He released Hermione and beamed around at them all. "I knew you'd come! Kept telling Seamus it was only a matter of time!"

"Neville, what's happened to you?"

"What? This? This is nothing. Seamus is worse. You'll see. Shall we get going, then? Oh, Ab, there might be a couple more people on the way."

"Couple more? What d'you mean a couple more, Longbottom? There's a curfew and a Caterwauling Charm on the whole village!"

"I know, that's why they'll be apparating directly into the bar. Just send them down the passage when they get here, will you? Thanks a lot."

Ron could do nothing but ogle silently. Neville, after helping Hermione into the painting (madness, honestly) led them jovially down the path. Harry climbed in after them a moment later and they set off.

How was it possible that this led to the school?  
>"How long's this been here? It isn't on the Marauder's Map, is it, Harry? I thought there were only seven passages in and out of the school?"<p>

"They sealed off all of those before the start of the year. There's no chance of getting through any of them now, not with the curses over the entrances and death eaters and dementors waiting at the exits."

Ron's fists clenched.

"Never mind that stuff … is it true? Did you break into Gringotts? Did you escape on a dragon? It's everywhere, everyone's talking about it, Terry Boot got beaten up by Carrow for yelling about it in the Great Hall at dinner!"

"Yeah, it's true."

Ron and Hermione exchanged an amused glance at Neville's following expression.

"What did you do with the dragon?"

"Released it to the wild." Ron nudged Hermione as he said this. "Hermione was all for keeping it as a pet – "

She rolled her eyes but, he noted, was still smiling. "Don't exaggerate, Ron."

"But what have you been doing? People have been saying you've just been on the run, Harry, but I don't think so. I think you've been up to something."

"You're right. But tell us about Hogwarts, Neville. We haven't heard anything."

"It's been … well, it's not really like Hogwarts anymore. Do you know about the Carrows?"

"Those two death eaters who teach here?"

"They do more than teach. They're in charge of all discipline. They like punishment, the Carrows."

"Like Umbridge?"

"Nah, they make her look tame. The other teachers are all supposed to refer us to the Carrows if we do anything wrong. They don't, though, if they can avoid it. You can tell they all hate them as much as we do.

"Amycus, the bloke, he teaches what used to be Defense Against the Dark Arts, except now it's just the Dark Arts. We're supposed to practice the Cruciatus Curse on people who've earned detentions – "

"WHAT?" For a moment, Ron thought he'd yelled by mistake, but realized that Harry and Hermione had spoken with him.

"Yeah. That's how I got this one." A large scar disfigured one side of Neville's face. "I refused to do it. Some people are into it, though; Crabbe and Goyle love it. First time they've ever been top in anything, I expect."

Ron struggled to control himself – he could hardly hear Neville over the blood pumping through his ears. He looked over at Hermione who had gone a pasty white and looked near tears. He grabbed her hand.

"Alecto, Amycus's sister, teaches Muggle Studies, which is compulsory for everyone. We've all got to listen to her explain how Muggles are like animals, stupid and dirty, and how they drove wizards into hiding by being vicious toward them, and how the natural order is being reestablished. I got this one for asking her how much Muggle blood she and her brother have got."

Ron eyed the deep gash above Neville's eyebrow with a mixture of reproof and admiring.

"Blimey, Neville. There's a time and a place for getting a smart mouth."

"You didn't hear her. You wouldn't have stood it either." Ron knew he was probably right. "The thing is, it helps when people stand up to them, it gives everyone hope. I used to notice that when you did it, Harry."

"But they've used you as a knife sharpener." The light fell across Neville's mutilated face and Ron winced alongside Hermione whose hand clenched around his. The other boy only shrugged.

"Doesn't matter. They don't want to spill too much pure blood, so they'll torture us a bit if we're mouthy, but they won't actually kill us."

_Won't actually kill us. _Ron wanted to throw something, angry as he was with the state of Hogwarts – _their_ Hogwarts. The safest place in the world.

"The only people in real danger are the ones whose friends and relatives on the outside are giving trouble. They get taken hostage. Old Xeno Lovegood was getting a bit too outspoken in _the Quibbler_, so they dragged Luna off the train on the way back for Christmas."

"Neville, she's all right, we've seen her."

"Yeah, I know, she managed to get a message to me."

He pulled out a Dumbledore's Army coin. "These have been great. The Carrows never rumbled how we were communicating, it drove them mad. We used to sneak out at night and put graffiti on the walls: Dumbledore's Army, Still Recruiting, stuff like that. Snape hated it."

"You used to?"

They continued to walk, still listening with revulsion as Neville continued blithely discussing the present, hellish state of their old school. As he told the story, Hermione shifted closer and closer into Ron as though trying to put as much space between her and the awful words as possible.

When the passage came to a close, Ron, despite himself, realized that he was excited to see Hogwarts again, even if it had changed dramatically for the worse. It was still home.

Neville led them to a door and crossed to the other side.

"Look who it is! Didn't I tell you?"

Hermione and Ron let go of each other's hands. Before entering, they could already hear cries of "Harry!" "It's Potter, it's POTTER!" "Ron!" "Hermione!"

He barely had time to process the room before they were overtaken by a mob of familiar, beaming, and, in many cases, scarred faces.

"Okay, okay, calm down!" The room fell silent immediately. Ron grinned at Neville who, since they'd been gone, had off and become a leader.

"Where are we?"

"Room of Requirement, of course! Surpassed itself, hasn't it? The Carrows were chasing me, and I knew I had just one chance for a hideout: I managed to get through the door and this is what I found! Well it wasn't exactly like this when I arrived, it was a load smaller, there was only one hammock and just Gryffindor hangings. But it's expanded as more and more of the D.A. have arrived."

"And the Carrows can't get in?"

"No."

Ron, Harry and Hermione all turned in the direction of the newest voice. Ron heard Hermione issue a small gasp. Seamus Finnigan stood before them looking like one, giant bruise. His voice was his only recognizable feature behind an expanse of puffy injuries. "It's a proper hideout, as long as one of us stays in here, they can't get at us, the door won't open. It's all down to Neville. He really _gets_ this room. You've got to ask it for _exactly_ what you need – like, 'I don't want any Carrow supporters to be able to get in' – and it'll do it for you! You've just got to make sure you close the loopholes! Neville's the man!"

"It's quite straightforward, really. I'd been in here about a day and a half, and getting really hungry, and wishing I could get something to eat, and that's when the passage to the Hog's Head opened up. I went through it and met Aberforth. He's been providing us with food, because for some reason, that's the one thing the room doesn't really do."

Ron didn't think as he said his next words. "Yeah, well, food's one of the five exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Tranfiguration."

The room at large was rather stunned as to how Ron Weasley, of all people, had managed to memorize such a thing, but Hermione's expression was priceless. She sidled close enough to speak only to him.

"Oh, speak English, won't you?"

He couldn't believe that she remembered that moment – not one of his finest – from their time on the run.

"Please tell me it's a coincidence that you just said that."

She laughed quietly and shook her head. "I'm afraid not. How could I forget such a charming instance?"

His felt his ears heating. "Blimey. I'm such a prick."

"Maybe a bit. Although, in your defense, you've just quoted the exception verbatim."

The only response Ron could think of was, _I remember everything you say_, which was obviously out of the question. Instead, he managed to brilliantly stare at her for a moment too long.

"Erm … yeah."

Her brow creased. "That, on the other hand, was notably less articulate."

Ron smirked. "Oh, come off it."

"– and thought they'd quite like to wash, yes."

Ron and Hermione both jerked to attention as the new, all-too-familiar voice entered the chorus of words. Lavender Brown stood with one hand on her hip, an eyebrow quirked and enough attitude to make Ron cower.

This reaction, obviously, did not slip Hermione's notice as she elbowed him and sniggered quietly. Ron only blushed a deeper shade of magenta.

"Tell us what you've been up to, though. There've been so many rumors, we've been trying to keep up with you on _Potterwatch._ You didn't break into Gringotts?"

"They did! And the dragon's true too!"

The room applauded. Embarrassment all but forgotten, Ron grinned and gave an appreciative bow.

"What were you after?"

Ron looked to Harry, the leader, to see what he was all right revealing. However, the boy in question only spun on the spot and started teetering.

"Ron!"

He didn't need Hermione's cue to rush forward and catch Harry before he fell. He looked to Hermione whose face betrayed as much worry as he felt. Harry began to spasm.

"Harry? Harry!"

The students in the Room of Requirement rushed forward to see what was going on. Hermione, with Neville's help, kept them at bay.

Harry's eyes fluttered open.

"Are you all right, Harry? Want to sit down? I expect you're tired, aren't – "

"No. We need to get going."

His last words were directed at Ron and Hermione who, unquestioningly, nodded their agreement.

"What are we going to do, then, Harry? What's the plan?"

The three of them glanced at Seamus with confusion. They had been so long on their own that the idea of others wanting inclusion was foreign.

"Plan? Well, there's something we – Ron, Hermione, and I – need to do, and then we'll get out of here."

The faces staring back at them were hurt and confused.

"What d'you mean, 'get out of here'?"

"We haven't come back to stay. There's something important we need to do – "

"What is it?"

He and Hermione exchanged alarmed glances. It was obvious that Harry's scar was still hurting him and they didn't have much time. Certainly not enough for this lot to waste time pestering Harry.

"I – I can't tell you."

"Why can't you tell us? It's something to do with fighting You-Know-Who, right?"

"Well, yeah – "

"Then we'll help you."

Their eagerness, admittedly, was moving. Ron stared around at them and felt a huge rush of affection for his previous classmates, most of whom he considered far better wizards and witches than himself.

"You don't understand. We – we can't tell you. We've got to do it – alone."

"Why?"

Ron thought about that question. Why was it so important that they do it alone? He looked over at Hermione who, he was happy to see, was already staring searchingly at him.

"Why not?" she murmured, barely audible.

Ron shrugged, and both looked to Harry for the final verdict.

"Because … Dumbledore left the three of us a job. And we weren't supposed to tell – I mean, he wanted us to do it, just the three of us."

"We're his army. Dumbledore's Army. We were all in it together, we've been keeping it going while you three have been off on your own –"

Ron felt Hermione stiffen at the last comment. "It hasn't exactly been a picnic, mate."

"This is getting out of control," Hermione whispered. Ron agreed, but hadn't the slightest clue on how to stop it. Neville and Harry were still arguing until –

"We got your message, Neville! Hello, you three, I thought you must be here!"

He stared at Luna and Dean clambering in. Seamus yelled and rushed to Dean while Luna began to, nonchalantly as ever, greet everyone.

"Luna … what are you doing here? How did you –"

"I sent for her. I promised her and Ginny that if you turned up I'd let them know. We all thought that if you came back, it would mean revolution. That we were going to overthrow Snape and the Carrows."

Ron spun on Neville at his little sister's name, wondering if, in the next few moments, he'd see her for the first time in months.

"Of course that's what it means, isn't it, Harry? We're going to fight them out of Hogwarts?"

"Listen, I'm sorry, but that's not what we came back for. There's something we've got to do, and then – "

"You're going to leave us in this mess?"

Ron glared at Michael Corner who he'd always known was an unpleasant sort.

"No! What we're doing will benefit everyone in the end, it's all about trying to get rid of You-Know-Who –"

"Then let us help! We want to be a part of it!"

The three of them turned in time to see the door opening once more. Ginny, Fred, George, Lee – Ron's head hurt. He hadn't seen them in so long and he hated the thought of them participating in a stupid war. At the same time, he knew that any chance of keeping the others uninvolved had just evaporated.

* * *

><p>The moment Harry and Luna disappeared into the rest of Hogwarts, the Room of Requirement erupted into a madhouse. Ron and Hermione rushed over to greet Ginny who, he was relieved to see, looked in as good of shape as ever. In a moment of rare sentimentality, he pulled her into a tight hug, ignoring the odd look she gave him.<p>

"All right, I missed you a bit as well," she smirked, and leaned over to hug Hermione as well.

"Let's hear it, little brother!" George called. "All these adventures rumored about – any of them true?"

"All of them," came Hermione's fierce reply. He beamed down at her, even as the twins surveyed him with pride.

"So we're going to fight, then?" Ginny asked eagerly. Ron's face fell.

"Ginny…"

It took all of his will power not to wither under her blazing stare. "Don't you dare tell me I'm too young, Ron Weasley! Don't you dare!"

"I'm not, all right, calm down!"

She relented only slightly.

"I don't want to hear any more from anyone about how I'm sixteen and underage because _you lot_ were already in quite a bit of trouble years younger than I am now!"

"It's different!"

"Different _how_?"

They were interrupted as the door opened again and Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, Oliver Wood and Alicia Spinnet rushed in.

"Ginny!" called Katie who had played a year on the Quidditch team with the younger girl. Grateful for the distraction, Ron grabbed Hermione's elbow and tugged her away.

Hermione looked at him expectantly when they stopped.

"What?"

She sighed. "Ginny does have a point, Ron."

"What? About letting her fight?"

"Yes, of course about that."

He huffed. "Not you, too."

"Well think about it! She actually has more experience with horcruxes than anyone here besides Harry, you and I."

Ron was confused for a moment before he remembered what Hermione was referring to. "Right … the diary." He shivered. "I don't like thinking about it."

"I know, but still. We need all the help we can get - even if Harry finds the other horcruxes, how are we to get rid of it? We still haven't gotten rid of the cup."

"Yeah, but I hardly think that just because Ginny ended up almost have dead in…." He blinked, the idea hitting him so suddenly that his words were still a step behind.

"Ron? Ron, what is it?"

"In the Chamber of Secrets."

"Yes, the name sounds _vaguely_ familiar, honestly! What is it?"

He spun to look at her. "The horcrux, in the Chamber of Secrets! How did Harry destroy the diary?"

"The fang of a basilisk, but you knew …"

Her eyes widened and he knew that she understood.

"Oh, Merlin, Ron, you are brilliant."

He grinned. "Gin!"

Ginny, who'd been talking to Luna, glanced up at the sound of her name. "What?"

"If Harry asks, tell him we've gone to the second floor bathroom for fangs, all right?"

She looked perplexed, but they didn't stick around long enough for her to question them. They had a basilisk to find.

**AN#2 ... sorry to leave another author's note, but just wanted to apologize for the slightly fluff starved chapter with a promise for two chapters that I have been waiting to write since this endeavor began. HOOORAY! Please stick around, guys. You are absolutely FANTASTIC. **


	41. the Chamber of Secrets

**AN: I present you with my longest and favorite chapter yet. I couldn't wait any longer to write it.**

**Folks. We have come so far. **

**And I so dearly enjoyed writing this chapter. **

**I love you all, and please, please, please, remember to review! It makes a world of difference. **

"But how are we going to get in?"

Ron tugged Hermione behind him as he all but ran to the second floor bathroom.

"Parseltongue!"

She rolled her eyes. "Perfect idea, brilliant, really, except that _neither of us speak Parseltongue._"

"I think I can!"

"What in Merlin's name do you mean?"

"You'll see, come on!"

Too out of breath to press the issue further, Hermione fell silent and gripped his hand more tightly. She trained her eyes to his back – she knew that if she tried to look around, she'd be tempted to linger. She'd missed these halls desperately.

They finally reached Myrtle's bathroom and Hermione, between gasps, had to chuckle. She vividly remembered her first attempt at Polyjuice Potion.

"Tormentors! Will they never end?"

"We're not here to torment you, Myrtle," Ron said, exasperatedly.

"No? Then what do you want? Having a good snog, I expect? Come to rub it in my face?"

Hermione blushed, but not as badly, she knew, as Ron, who turned an angry red.

"NO! Blimey, we're not going to bother you!"

"Sorry, Myrtle, but we have to get to the Chamber of Secrets."

If ghosts had blood, Hermione expected Myrtle's face would have drained of all color.

"What … what are you talking about? You can't."

Ron rolled his eyes. "I'm afraid we can, actually, and if you'll remember, have done before, so if you'll kindly float around over there." He dismissed her with a wave of his hand. For once, Hermione was fully supportive of his impatient antics. They couldn't afford to lose any more time.

He stepped over to the sink and, for the first time, Hermione remembered to feel nervous. She'd often wondered about the mysterious chamber that all three of her best friends had entered without her.

He opened his mouth and hissed something unintelligible. Nothing happened.

"Erm …. Ron, are you sure –"

"Yeah, honestly, I remember from when Harry opened the locket. Maybe it was a bit more like …"

He tried again. Still, nothing happened.

"I reckon it had a bit more throat in it. Maybe –"

The final sound was the most terrible, but there was a screeching of porcelain as the sink began to shift.

"Ron! You've done it!"

Without thinking, she threw her arms around his neck. His grip tightened for a moment before both of them cleared their throats and uncomfortably let go.

"Right … then, I reckon I should go first, just in case?"

Hermione eyed the thick, black pipe with wide eyes. Wanting to preserve her image, however, she said haughtily. "In case what? A female favoring monster is waiting to devour me?"

He smirked. "Yeah. In case of that."

She sighed, but didn't protest anymore.

"Oh, and just as a warning, it's a long drop, but not too bad of a landing. And it's dark, so you won't be able to tell at first, but all the crunchy things you're stepping on are bones, just so you know ahead of time."

She pretended this didn't bother her.

"Ok … erm … that's all, I think. Maybe…"

"Are you stalling?"

"A bit."

"Shall I go first, then?"

He glared. "No, I'm fine. See? This pipe is just a bit … smaller than I remember it."

She chuckled. "You might have grown a tad in the six or so years since then."

"Only a bit."

Without another word, he sat on the edge and pushed himself in. Hermione quickly followed. She had to push off with quite a bit of force, but once she was going, she only gained speed. It was sickening– she lurched around sharp corners and could hear trickling water and distant thuds and scratching that made her skin crawl. There was a strange, slimy coating on the walls of the pipe that made her feel ill to think about, so she held her arms tightly to her chest, closed her eyes, and tried not to scream.

All at once, she gained a huge amount of speed and, suddenly she felt herself shooting out of the pipe. Before she could clear the edge, Ron's hands grabbed her legs and slowed her enough to pull her gracefully to a standing position next to him.

"You – you just caught me…"

"Yeah." He was still panting a little. "The landing isn't too soft."

She couldn't help but beam. "Thank you."

Bashfully, he shrugged and mumbled something about any gentleman doing the same thing. Hermione wanted desperately, in that moment, to tell him she loved him. Instead, she lifted her wand and whispered, "Lumos."

The small light left an eerie glow in the cavernous room. Ron shivered.

"Blimey. I still hate this place."

She nodded and reached out her hand, which he grabbed without a word.

"This way, come on."

He led her through the dark tunnel. They cringed as the floor cracked beneath them. Their footsteps were rapid; both of them felt the sense of urgency.

"Hermione, stop!"

She didn't need telling twice.

"What, what's wrong?" she looked around wildly.

"No, look, right there." Ron was pointing at what appeared to be a stone barrier. Peering closer, she could see a hole possibly large enough for a body.

Ron rushed forward to it. "Merlin … this is bizarre, come look. Right here is where the tunnel caved in when Lockhart's spell went bad."

She walked over to stand beside him as he fingered the edges. "Ginny and Harry fit through this titchy thing, can you believe it?"

"It's strange to come here when you all have this common memory that I just … wasn't there for."

Ron's expression grew grim. "Yeah. I know the feeling." His voice was edged with guilt and sadness. She looked over at him and squeezed his hand.

"On the bright side, it's not as though either of us were missing out on much."

He gave a dark laugh. "Yeah. Reckon you're right."

She sighed exaggeratedly. "I'm _always_ right. Like, now, for instance, when I tell you that we are not fitting through that hole."

He smirked. "_Always?_ Like when you wanted to find some _wood_ to burn for a _fire_?"

Both of them laughed. "Oh, shut up. I was only twelve."

"All right, then, how are we supposed to get through to the Chamber now?"

He made this too easy. She shot him a falsely scathing look and, throwing his own line back in his face, said, "Honestly, Ron, are you a wizard or not?"

She directed her wand at the opening. "Defodio."

In moments, the hole was large enough for them to climb through quite comfortably. Both of them were still smiling as they embarked down the rest of the tunnel.

"This is weird. I never came this far."

The fact that whatever was ahead was new to both of them made Hermione shiver. The last three turns felt like forever, even if she knew that the real danger was gone ages ago. Their footsteps echoed around in the silence.

"I think this is it."

They stared at the wall before them. Two snakes with eerie, emerald eyes stared back.

Ron gulped and stepped forward. He made the same, guttural noise from before. The wall split in half and slid open. Hermione felt her breathing speed up.

The Chamber of Secrets was exactly as Hermione would have imagined it – long, narrow – huge, of course. Pillars lined both sides and, at the far end stood a gigantic statue of Salazar Slytherin.

"Bit of a narcissist, that bloke," Ron said.

Hermione nodded her silent agreement. She continued to stare at the chamber and then, looking closely, noticed a huge, shadowy mass in the far corner.

"Merlin. Oh, Merlin, Ron, is that…?"

"The basilisk …"

His voice quavered a little, but, with no time to lose, they both rushed forward. Up close, Hermione had to focus to keep from being sick all over the marble floors. Nasty to begin with, the serpent in varying stages of decay was revolting. The smell was no more desirable. She dry heaved.

"Here, stay here, I'll get them."

Hermione shook her head. "No, it's all right –"

"Hermione. Honestly. If a spider crawls in, I'll let you handle it. But please, let me feel like a man and fetch the snake teeth, all right?"

She laughed and succumbed. Though she would never admit it later, she turned away and clapped her hands over her ears the moment she heard the first _craaaack_ of the fang being ripped from the basilisk.

A few long moments later, Ron tapped her shoulder. She stopped humming and glanced over. He smirked at her. "You have the cup, right?" He was holding a fang.

This was the part she dreaded.

Hermione was well read on horcruxes. As much as it disgusted her, she'd studied the book from Dumbledore's office thoroughly, intent on knowing everything there was to know if they were going to effectively find and finish them. She knew that horcruxes were not destroyed without a psychological battle and suspected that Ron and Harry had not been completely honest with her about the locket.

"Oh. Yes. Yes, of course."

She extracted her bag from the folds of her robes. However, as she began to fish through it, her heart sank.

"Ron. I never had the cup. I never put it in my bag."

His eyes widened, and then he laughed. She couldn't imagine why until he patted his robes and pulled the horcrux out.

"I grabbed this when we were hauling off so suddenly to come here."

She exhaled in relief. "Thank goodness. I almost died of fright."

"And we can't have that. Here, would you like to do the honors?"

He held it out for her to take and it dangled there, suspended by a finger.

"I – I don't know."

"Come on. Harry's got the diary. I did the locket. It's your turn."

Somehow, she felt that he was right. It didn't mean she liked it. She held her hand out for the cup and shuddered from head to toe. More so than even the effect of the locket, she could feel it pulsing through her until there were two heart beats and she couldn't tell if they were both hers or both the goblet's.

"Just stab it quickly. Don't listen to anything it makes you think, or anything it says."

She knelt and placed the cup gingerly in front of her. Ron's fingers slid the fang into her outstretched grasp. She gripped it, raised to strike and then her fingers froze, and she was paralyzed. The air around the horcrux turned hazy, began to ripple and then, as though staring at a screen, images began to play …

_A small, bushy haired nine-year-old glanced around a school yard. Her gaze flicked nervously from side to side before she darted behind a large oak tree, slid to the ground, and flipped open a book. _

_ "If it isn't Hermione _Strang_er! You thought I couldn't see you behind this tree? Your hair is bigger than it."_

_ Hermione cowered against the tree and stared fearfully at the much older girl towering over her. _

The image flashed again, and though she could hear Ron's voice telling her to do something, she was too horrified and entranced to look away.

_"…you mustn't go wandering around the school at night, think of the points you'll lose Gryffindor if you're caught, and you're bound to be. It's really very selfish of you." A first-year Hermione warned the tiny Harry and Ron earnestly. _

_ "And it's really none of your business."_

_ "Good-bye."_

_ She recoiled as though she'd been slapped, but they didn't seem to care. They loaded up their bags and walked away, talking and laughing like she imagined friends were supposed to._

Hermione's eyes pricked – her fingers clenched – but her hand remained immobilized as the next series of images appeared.

_Hermione stormed towards Gryffindor tower, angry tears pricking at the corner of her eyes. Ron had been nothing but hostile to her lately, and she had no explanation. All she wanted was for him to apologize so that she could tell him that of _course_ she knew he could have saved those goals without the liquid luck. Of _course_ she knew he was good at Quidditch and of _course_ her chest had swelled with pride when all of Gryffindor carried him on their shoulders. She wished he would be nice to her long enough for her to tell him all of this, and maybe if he would just listen – _

_ The portrait hole swung open, and there he was, beaming around at them all. They met eyes and, wanting nothing more for things to be ok with them, she grinned and gave him a thumbs up. He returned the smile – she was relieved to see – and made his way towards her. _

_ "PARVATI, STOP!" Lavender Brown screeched as the Patil twin shoved her into Ron. Startled, they both stumbled, but his hands landed on her elbows. _

_ "Sorry, she's such a dolt sometimes, but that was amazing Ron, really …"Hermione stared in disgust and – yes – jealousy. When would she get on with it?_

_ "Oh … right, thanks Lavender." He was extricating himself. _

_ "Wait, I just … I've been wanting to tell you …"_

_ It was the quickest instant, and then Lavender was kissing him. Kissing Ron – _her _Ron – on the lips! And he was not extricating himself now – his hands were fluttering awkwardly until they landed on her waist, and then slid around it – _

_ Merlin. Merlin. Oh Merlin, no, no, no, no. _

_ This wasn't happening, her tears registered the moment before she did, and by the time she could think to get out of there, a sob was already tearing through her chest. _

"HERMIONE STAB THE CUP!"

She had to – she couldn't take any more of this – still, though, she could not move. The flashes were coming rapidly now, in quick successions with no breaks, her head was spinning as FLASH _she cried herself silently to sleep to the sound of Lavender gushing the details of Ron's snogging prowess to Parvati in their room_ FLASH _she walked, puffy eyed, away from the house of the parents that had forgotten her completely_ FLASH _sunken eyed and pale she stared, expressionless, at the opposite wall of the tent. Ron was gone. What else existed? _FLASH and now, words pierced her chest and her skull and seemed to reverberate around the Chamber.

_They will never stay. You will never be enough for them to want to stay with you. They've never needed you – all you've ever been is someone to do their homework and make their meals. Nothing to keep them around. _

She hadn't realized until now that this was her greatest fear. Now she felt as though she'd known it all her life.

Standing before her, suddenly, were her parents. Something was wrong with them – they stared at her for a long moment with nothing – no emotion – no care.

"Mum? Dad?"

Neither blinked. They only turned, began to walk, and faded away.

Real, solid, Ginny and Harry were standing before her. They were red eyed and regarded her with supreme indifference.

"Please," she whimpered. They followed her parents and were gone.

Ron appeared, beautiful, wonderful – he looked at her without a trace of recognition.

"No … Ron, please."

She wept. She tried to crawl towards him but, still unable to move, he started to turn.

"NO! NOOO!"

"STAB IT! HERMIONE YOU HAVE TO STAB IT, PLEASE, I'M RIGHT HERE!"

With every ounce of strength she possessed, Hermione turned a fraction of an inch, just enough that she could see a flash of orange in the corner of her eye.

"Ron?"

"STAB IT!"

He was still here – everyone had gone – even he had disappeared, but somehow his voice and his hair were right beside her.

"HERMIONE! LISTEN TO ME, YOU HAVE TO STAB THE CUP! IGNORE WHATEVER IT IS HE'S TELLING YOU AND STAB THE CUP!"

_Stab the cup._

Everything focused in, and there it was. The horcrux, lying harmlessly on the floor.

"AHHH!"

Whatever had been holding her muscles was gone, and the fang sliced through the air with precision. It hit its mark and a shrill scream pierced the chamber. Then everything was silent, and all that was left was Hermione, crying on all fours with Ron beside her.

His arms were around her a moment later. She curled into him and hid her face because she was too humiliated to meet his eyes.

"I'll never leave again. I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry. I'm never going to leave."

He rubbed her back in sweet, slow circles.

"No, it was stupid, it didn't matter," she tried to mumble. He held her at arm's length.

"It's not stupid."

"Did the locket just scream, Ron?"

He sighed and shook his head.

"Please tell me what it did."

This was silly, but she had to know if she was just weak, or if all the horcruxes tormented their destroyers like this.

"It talked."

He was still holding her.

"About what?"

He blushed a deep red.

"About me. It was similar, sort of, but without the memories … blimey, that was …"

She flinched. "Humiliating."

"For me, yeah. I am the world's biggest git."

"No distracting. What did the locket talk about?"

"Well … it said stuff about how I wasn't good enough, you know?"

"For what?"

"For my family – my mum. She wanted a girl so badly, you know."

She nodded, slowly, but her expression told him that she knew this wasn't all.

"And it talked about I could never measure up to Harry."

"In whose eyes?"

_Just say it, Ron. For once._

"Anyone's."

"Anyone specific?"

"Erm … most everyone…"

She quirked an eyebrow. His expression was perfectly innocent – classic when he was anything but.

"Namely…?"

He pretended to think. "Well … you might have been mentioned …"

She nodded, glad that they were somewhat even. Still, she was agitated. What was their aversion to coming out and admitting that they fancied each other?

_It wouldn't be so hard if I only _fancied _him. _

They were still crouched on the ground with his arms around her. He looked down at her and his expression took on something else entirely – exhilarating and familiar. He stared at her eyes, and then her lips, and then her eyes, and she couldn't breathe. She waited … they were alone, far from the reaches of any interruption.

"Hermione." It came out a whisper.

His fingers found her face, slid around to the back of her neck, pulled her closer.

Somewhere above them, the walls of the castle gave a great, heaving groan.

They froze, faces inches from each other. Hermione wanted desperately to close the gap, to kiss him quickly before returning to the real, shambled world. But if she kissed him now, she didn't think she'd ever stop.

"Harry needs us," she breathed, and she could feel the bubble popping. Ron's eyes squeezed shut. In one, swift move, he pressed his lips swiftly to her forehead and then jumped to his feet.

"Come on, then. Let's go find Harry."

He extended a hand and pulled her up. As he went to retrieve the pile of fangs he'd pulled, Hermione thought about something rather troubling.

"Ron."

"Hm?"

"How are we going to get out of here? We don't have a phoenix to conveniently come fly us away."

"Erm … I hadn't really thought that far."

"Great. Great, now we're stuck in the Chamber of Secrets with Harry up there –"

"Wait! Of course – we fly!"

She stared at him, not bothering to conceal that she thought he was mad.

"Fly. On _what_?"

He grinned and raised his wand. "On a broom. Accio broomstick."

Hermione was sure it wouldn't work. She thought of Harry in fourth year – he'd summoned it across half the grounds. But how could a broom go through all the tunnels –

A whooshing sound from behind them made them both turn. From the cavern inside the statue's mouth, an old broom was shooting towards them.

Ron laughed. "I reckon the old bloke had to get out of here as well, sometimes."

Hermione was relieved, except that she was not exactly looking forward to carrying an armful of basilisk fangs, on a broom (an ancient one, at that), up a dark, cramped tunnel. Ron didn't seem to have any concerns with the idea.

"Here – you take these –" he shifted the heaping pile into her arms "– and I'll take this–" he snatched the broom out of the air, "–you'll sit in front of me –" he nodded for her to get on and, shaking, she did. "– and I'll hold the broom." He put his arms around her waist and grabbed the handle in front of her. Without anything to hold onto besides the fangs, she felt even more unprotected than usual.

"I – I think I might fall off." She used her elbows to awkwardly secure his arms at her sides. She felt him chuckle. He leaned forward until his lips were right by her ear and, with a low voice, said, "You are _not_ going to fall off."

She felt butterflies from her head to her toes and couldn't help the resulting shiver. In the next moment, Ron kicked off from the ground and they were airborne. Hermione closed her eyes, leaned into him, and tried to enjoy the tug in her gut and the feeling that any moment she might die …

Ron whooped behind her and, she couldn't be sure, but she thought she felt him kiss the top of her head.

_Maybe this isn't so bad._

Not to mention, compared to riding on the back of a dragon or a thestral, Ron pressed up behind her, controlling the steering, was actually quite bearable.

They raced around a sharp curve. She yelped and thought that she still preferred the ground.

An endless number of moments later, she felt the ground beneath her feet.

"You can open your eyes now."

She did. Ron was standing beside her, smiling.

"Thank Merlin. All right, let's go."

The two of them raced out of the bathroom and were shocked as they entered the second floor corridor. Chaos was everywhere – people rushed back and forth, dust was in the air and teachers shouted instruction. How were they to find Harry?

"Ron, we need to get back to the Room of Requirement! Maybe Harry's up there."

He nodded his agreement and they jogged towards it. On their way, they passed Seamus Finnigan.

"Seamus! What's going on?"

He looked at them, startled. "You haven't heard? We're fighting!"

He rushed away, and they gaped at each other.

"Fighting … oh my … I'm not sure I'm ready for this."

Ron shook his head, but there wasn't time to think about it, and they pressed forward.

"RON!"

They whipped around and both of their jaws dropped. Percy Weasley stood before them, looking nervous.

"Percy?" Ron was incredulous.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry – I've seen the rest of the family, but you weren't there, and I'm an idiot – oh, I explained it all to them, but I've been trying to get out of the Ministry and I just now heard about the fighting and I came … I – I came to fight, of course, with all of you –" Hermione worried he would never stop speaking if someone didn't stop him, but she also knew it wasn't her place. "I never would let you fight without me, honestly, and I've been the biggest, self-centered prat and –"

"Percy!" Finally, Ron spoke.

"Erm … yeah?"

"Welcome back."

Hermione beamed at Ron, unreasonably proud, and nudged him lightly. Both Weasleys grinned sheepishly at each other.

"Ron … the time…"

"Oh, right, sorry, Perce, I wish we could talk a bit, but we have to find Harry…"

"Right, of course, I'm off to join Fred!"

Ron and Hermione turned and continued up the corridor.

"Mad, absolutely mad!" Ron muttered. Hermione laughed out loud.

They raced through another corridor and then, finally, "Where the _hell _have you been?" Harry was clearly furious with them and didn't even ask why they were carrying such a strange load.

"Chamber of Secrets."

"Chamber – _what_?"

"It was Ron, all Ron's idea! Wasn't it absolutely brilliant? There we were, after you left, and I said to Ron, even if we find the other one, how are we going to get rid of it? We still hadn't got rid of the cup! And then he thought of it! The basilisk!"

They explained what they'd done to Harry.

"Genius!"

"It was nothing. So what's new with you?"

"I know what the diadem looks like, and I know where it is. He hid it exactly where I hid my old Potions book, where everyone's been hiding stuff for centuries. He thought he was the only one to find it. Come on."

They ran into the Room of Requirement where Ginny, Tonks and Neville's grandmother were standing.

"Ah, Potter. You can tell us what's going on."

"Is everyone okay?"

"'S far as we know. Are there still people in the passage to the Hog's Head?"

"I was the last to come through. I sealed it, I think it unwise to leave it open now Aberforth has left his pub." Hermione grinned to hear that the old wizard had joined the fight. "Have you seen my grandson?"

"He's fighting."

"Naturally. Excuse me, I must go and assist him."

Harry's next words were directed at Tonks. "I thought you were supposed to be with Teddy at your mother's?"

"I couldn't stand not knowing – she'll look after him. Have you seen Remus?"

"He was planning to lead a group of fighters into the grounds –"

Tonks darted away.

"Ginny. I'm sorry, but we need you to leave too. Just for a bit. Then you can come back in."

Her expression was eager, but Hermione could tell that both Harry and Ron were conflicted about letting her go. She ran from the room and Hermione smiled when Harry spun around after her and shouted, _"You've got to come back in!"_

"Hang on a moment!"

Harry and Hermione turned to look at Ron, who had spoken.

"We've forgotten someone!"

"Who?"

"The house-elves, they'll all be down in the kitchen, won't they?"

Hermione's eyebrows shot nearly to her hairline and for a moment she thought he was mocking her.

"You mean we ought to get them fighting?"

Ron's brow furrowed. "No. I mean we should tell them to get out. We don't want any more Dobbies, do we?"

_Why in Merlin's name haven't you kissed him yet?_

All Hermione could see was his face. Her arms went limp, fangs were falling as he finished, "We can't order them to die for us."

She ran; there was nothing in the world that could possibly stop her this time. Nothing in the world that she wanted more – nothing could be more important –

She reached him, grabbed him, and, mirroring a million day dreams, completing a thousand hanging moments, ignoring every thought besides the one pulsing through her core,

She kissed him.


	42. Now or Never

**AN: It's getting so close to the end! Also, sorry this took so long and thank you for sticking with me and for 300 REVIEWS! You guys are the best readers on the planet. :)**

**Also, hope you had a Happy Thanksgiving and (if I don't update again before Christmas, fingers crossed that I will), Merry Christmas to all of you that celebrate it!**

**Please, please continue to review!**

And Hermione's mouth was pressed on his.

Something was stopping him from wrapping his arms around her, so he threw it, and pulled her against his chest because that was always where she should be.

And he kissed her back.

And how had he never known what it did when Hermione gave a fluttery sigh right into his mouth? And how had he never known that her lips were soft and fierce and _maddening_ and _how_, bloody hell, _how_ had he never known that when Hermione Granger snogged you, she did it just like she did everything else?

Perfectly.

Someone spoke in a vague, irrelevant portion of his consciousness. Hermione was so much more important – he pulled her closer, kissed her harder – never close or hard enough.

"OI! THERE'S A WAR GOING ON HERE!"

He felt her pull away, so he leaned back, realized he'd picked her up and set her gingerly back on the ground.

He stared at her wild hair – wilder, now – and he stared at her lips – slightly swollen – and the tiny freckles that just graced her nose, but most of all he stared at her eyes. And they stared back with an expression that made his heart pound.

Blimey, did he want to do that again.

"I know, mate, so it's now or never, isn't it?"

"Never mind that, what about the Horcrux? Do you think you could just – just hold it in until we've got the diadem?"

They had a task at hand – Harry was right.

"Yeah – right – sorry."

Flushing, they broke away from each other and knelt down to pick up the fangs.

Neither of them spoke – Ron had no idea what to say. There were so many things he wanted her to know – that he loved her was the most prevalent. It wasn't the moment though – they were in the middle of a war.

Then again, if there was one thing he wanted to do before the fighting started, that was it.

Back in the corridor, they gaped in horror at the destruction that surrounded them. They watched as Grawp, the giant, ambled passed the nearest window.

"Let's hope he steps on some of them!" Ron said.

"As long as it's not any of our lot!"

They looked over to see Tonks and Ginny standing behind them in the hall. Ron's heart tightened. He wanted Ginny to disappear from this mess.

She pointed her wand at the crowd beneath and they watched as a death eater fell back, clutching his face.

Maybe she was more ready than he wanted to admit.

"Good girl! They look like they might be breaching the north battlements, they've brought giants of their own!"

"Have you seen Remus?"

"He was dueling Dolohov! Haven't seen him since."

"Tonks. Tonks, I'm sure he's okay –"

They watched her dart off into the rubble.

Ginny spun around to look at them.

"They'll be all right ..." Ron didn't bother noting how hollow Harry's words sounded. "Ginny, we'll be back in a moment, just keep out of the way, keep safe. Come on!"

By now, all of them knew the routine. They ran passed the entrance of the Room of Requirement three times. Ron didn't bother picturing what he needed – he knew that Harry would take care of that. He was right. On the third lap, a door materialized and they went through.

They skidded to a stop. Stacks of junk were piled in all corners of the now crowded space. Bird cages, books and any number of strange objects filled every corner.

"And he never realized anyone could get in?" Ron stared around, baffled by the idea that a young Voldemort could have seen all of this and missed the obvious – that he was far from being the first or the last visitor of the Room of Requirement.

"He thought he was the only one. Too bad for him I've had to hide stuff in my time … this way – I think it's down here."

A strange sense of foreboding sent shivers down Ron's neck. Harry was obviously too focused to notice it, so he glanced at Hermione. Her pursed lips and shrug in his direction told him that she felt it too.

"Accio diadem!"

None of them were surprised. Nothing was ever that easy anymore.

"Let's split up. Look for a stone bust of an old man wearing a wig and a tiara! It's standing on a cupboard and it's definitely somewhere near here."

Ron did not like the idea of splitting up one bit, but he and Hermione moved to separate aisles anyway.

"Holler if you see anything wrong," he said, trying to keep his tone light. She nodded, but she wasn't as successful at hiding her worry.

Alone, Ron sprinted passed walls of junk, jumping each time a bottle crashed or a cupboard door closed from one of the other rows. He ran deep enough that he was no longer able to hear anything from the other two. It was an awful feeling, but he couldn't stop now. They had to find the horcrux.

He was about to give in and go find Hermione when he heard muffled murmuring. He paused, backtracking to hear it more clearly. What seemed like several voices were coming from Harry's row.

"Harry? Are you talking to someone?"

"Descendo!"

Ron heard the familiar voice and, realizing what was happening a moment before it did, dove out of the way of the crashing items.

"RON!"

He stumbled to his feet in time to hear Harry's "Finite!" The teetering shelves steadied, and he began to run in the direction he'd come. He wasn't quite half way down the row, so backtracking was the quickest way to Harry.

"Harry! What's going on?" he shouted, and heard more curses and crashing. He couldn't place the voice – it was too stupid for any of the death eaters he'd met …

Crabbe. Of course.

"It's that Mudblood!" He heard Crabbe shout, and his heart sank. "Avada Kadavra!"

"NO!" he yelled, and quickened his pace.

He could hear Malfoy's voice shouting not to kill Harry, a disarming curse and then he was finally at the end and, as he rounded the corner, he immediately found Crabbe. "Petrificus Totalus!"

He swore when it missed his target and rushed towards the chaos.

"Avada Kadavra!"

Ron ducked behind a stack of books which burst apart. Crabbe rushed towards him, and he jumped into view, wand raised.

"Stupefy!"

Crabbe directed his wand at a spot behind Ron's shoulder and muttered a strange curse. Ron turned to look behind him and shouted in surprise. Huge, rolling flames were rushing towards them.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR BLOODY MIND?" Ron bellowed at the fool, and ran hard back up the aisle towards Harry and Hermione.

"Like it hot, scum?"

Ron couldn't hear anything over the flames, but he saw Harry mouthing spells and both of them looked terrified.

"RUN!" he screamed. When he caught up to them, they ran together in the opposite direction. Shorter than both of them, Ron could see that Hermione struggled to keep up. He groped blindly behind him and, relieved, felt Hermione's hand in his. He tugged her in front of him and slowed his own pace so that he was between her and the flames.

He looked back at the fire and swore again. The flames had morphed into a hellish variety of creatures, all with mouths large and gaping after them. Fire inched up the sides of the aisles, and, before they knew it, they were surrounded.

"What can we do? What can we _do_?"

"Here!"

Harry pushed a broom at Ron. With his hand still around Hermione's, he tugged her to sit behind him.

The moment her arms were secured around his waist, he kicked off. He aimed his broom for the door. "Ron, Harry!" Hermione cried from behind him.

He turned in his seat and saw Harry circling lower.

"Please tell me he's not …" He was. "Harry, let's get out, let's get out!"

Harry ignored his plea, even as a shrill scream came from beneath the blanket of smoke.

"It's – too – dangerous!" he tried again, between coughs. He could see that Harry was about to dive back into the blackness and Ron knew that if he did, he might never come back. Normally, he wouldn't hesitate before following, but two things stopped him. First of all, risking his neck for the three gits that just tried to kill them did not sound tremendously appealing. More importantly, Hermione was sitting behind him. He was definitely not willing to let her die for Malfoy's sake.

"Ron, we have to."

Her words were enough. He groaned, and then shot after Harry. They arrived in time to see Malfoy clambering onto Harry's broom.

"IF WE DIE FOR THEM, I'LL KILL YOU, HARRY!"

It took all of his and Hermione's combined strength to help Goyle onto their broom. He ended up folded over it on his stomach, the broomstick across his abdomen. When they took off again, Ron was worried the old broom wouldn't make it out. It bucked several times and Ron winced as Hermione's nails bit into the flesh at his sides.

"The door is that way!" He heard Hermione squeak, and she let go of him long enough to point him in the right direction. He flew, hardly able to hear or see anything. His broom was pivoting dangerously when he finally caught sight of the door. Hermione cheered hoarsely as they sped towards it.

Ron landed with little grace and Goyle, still unconscious, flopped off the broom. Ron gave Hermione a chance to get off before he dismounted. She leaned against the wall and then slid to the floor, coughing violently. Her eyes watered.

He knelt in front of her and grabbed her hands. "Are you all right?"

She smiled. "Yes –" she turned her head away and coughed. "I'm fine."

Somewhat satisfied, he gave into the burn in his own throat and slumped next to her on the wall, coughing as well.

Harry and Malfoy flew out a moment later. Ron and Hermione winced as they crashed into the opposite wall and fell to the ground.

"C-Crabbe – C-Crabbe…"

Ron's blood boiled. Crabbe who had tried to kill him and Hermione – who had almost succeeded in killing them all.

"He's dead."

Hermione, shaking, got to her feet. She held out a hand for Ron, who took it and stood next to her. Second nature now, he slid his arm around her waist and thought about how rapidly things could change.

Both of them jumped when the very walls around them seemed to tremble with a series of loud, short crashes. In the next instance, a crowd of ghostly horses galloped passed, their riders shouting for courage. Ron, Hermione, Harry and Malfoy all gaped after the headless hunt and Harry staggered to his feet.

A screech in the opposite direction made them turn their heads.

"Where's Ginny? She was here. She was supposed to be going back into the Room of Requirement."

Ron felt a flare of panic, but decided to focus on less troubling matters than the absence of his little sister.

"Blimey, d'you reckon it'll still work after that fire? Shall we split up and look –"

"No." Hermione's harsh tone hit him like a smack to the face. She didn't want to look for Ginny? "Let's stick together." He sighed, relieved. "I say we go – Harry, what's that on your arm?"

"What? Oh yeah –"

Ron looked at the object and laughed in relief. They were alive _and_ they'd gotten the horcrux? Finally some luck in their favor. They watched as the tiara quivered and then, with ink-like liquid oozing from a crack in it, burst apart in Harry's hands.

"It must have been Fiendfyre!"

"Sorry?"

"Fiendfyre – cursed fire – it's one of the substances that destroys horcruxes, but I would never, ever have dared use it – it's so dangerous – how did Crabbe know how to –"

"Must've learned from the Carrows."

"Shame he wasn't concentrating when they mentioned how to stop it, really. If he hadn't tried to kill us all, I'd be quite sorry he was dead."

He meant it, too. The idea of their old school mate – miserable as he was – perishing in the living flames was sickening.

"But don't you realize? This means, if we can just get the snake…"

She never finished. Spells and shouts and the sound of wands firing filled the air around them and all three of them spun on their heels to peer into the din. Ron cursed to see hooded figures – Hogwarts defenses had broken. He cursed again when he noticed the shocks of familiar, red hair and darted forward to help whichever members of his family they belonged to.

Percy and Fred, he was unsurprised to see, seemed to be holding their own. Still, neither protested the extra help.

"Hello Minister! Did I mention I'm resigning?"

Ron sniggered as he noted that they were, indeed, dueling with Thicknesse.

"You're joking, Perce! I don't think I've heard you joke since you were –"

Everything exploded. Ron smacked, hard, into the wall closest to him. He crumpled to the ground, but could only think of Hermione and, not feeling the pain that he knew was somewhere at bay, leapt to his feet. His eyes searched the wreckage for any sign of her.

He tripped over something – some_one_, he realized, and looked down.

Silence, paralysis – the synapses in his brain came to a halt. They could not – or would not – process the impossible image. His knees gave way, so he fell and the air rushed passed him and his face smacked into a warm, solid chest. And he knew.

Every muscle seized up and, from his very bones, a horrible, feral scream tore through his chest and echoed in the chamber around him.

"No – no – no! No! Fred! No!" Percy's whimpering words came from beside him.

Ron's hands clutched fistfuls of Fred's robe. He rocked, back and forth, back and forth, wanting to _scream_ but all that came out was one long, rattling, breath. He reeled it back in as he rocked.

He heard footsteps and, like a caged animal, snapped his gaze to whoever was approaching, ready to leap at them if they got too close to Fred.

_Hermione_.

She was alive – Harry was alive. Coherence filled him like cold water and, with it, tears spilled over.

"Get down!"

Ron lunged forward to grab Hermione and pull her to the floor next to him. He glanced over to see Percy still grasping Fred.

"Percy, come on, we've got to move!"

When Percy didn't budge, Ron crawled over. He would not let any more of his family die.

"Percy!" he grabbed his brother and yanked, hard, but Percy only held on tighter. "Percy, you can't do anything for him! We're going to –"

At the sound of Hermione's scream, Ron, terrified, spun around. A spider nearly the size of the hole in the wall was scuttling towards Hermione. Hot anger surged through his blood. He wanted it dead. He wanted them all dead.

"CONFRINGO!" he bellowed, and Harry's spell smashed into Ron's and, together, blew the spider back out the way it came.

"It brought friends!"

Ron turned and grabbed hold of Hermione. Each of their lives seemed suddenly so fragile, so he placed himself between her and the spiders, determined to shield her from any more danger.

"Let's move, NOW!"

They ran, back towards the Room of Requirement and passed it, their footsteps thudding.

_Fred is dead._

The realization hit him all over again, so hard he nearly collapsed. Instead, he sobbed. He wailed the loud, painful shrieks that tore at the stomach and made it impossible to see. Hermione rounded on him and grabbed his shoulders.

"Ron! Please!" Her voice was shrill with tears and terror. She shook him. "We have to move!"

He nodded, but stumbled, and she grabbed his hand. Blindly, he let her yank him behind a tapestry.

"No – no, we have to go!" He insisted, trying to stand.

He heard Percy's furious shout of "ROOKWOOD!" and fought harder to get away.

"I have to help him!"

"Ron! Listen to me!"

"I have to help! I have to help!"

He tried to break free of Hermione's grasp, but somehow she held him there.

"Harry, in here!"

Ron was still fighting to get away – he couldn't let another of his brothers rush into the madness without him.

"Listen to me – LISTEN, RON!"

"I want to help! I want to kill Death Eaters!"

He was furious, heartbroken, trembling with the effort to break free.

"Ron, we're the only ones who can end it! Please – Ron – we need the snake, we've got to kill the snake!"

He didn't want to kill the snake – he wanted to kill every last filthy death eater. He wanted to watch them fall to the ground and he wanted them to hurt.

"We _will_ fight! We'll have to reach the snake! But let's not lose sight now of what we're supposed to be d-doing! We're the only ones who can end it!"

A thick tear splashed on Ron's forehead and, for the first time, he stopped trembling and stared up at Hermione's face. She let go of one of his wrists to wipe her tear streaked cheek and, still on top of Ron, looked at Harry.

"You need to find out where Voldemort is, because he'll have the snake with him, won't he? Do it, Harry – look inside him."

Ron's eyes didn't leave her face. He had never been in more pain – his chest and brain screamed in protest of the knowledge of Fred's death. But she was still here, and Harry was still here, and he was still here and the rest of his family was still fighting somewhere here and they had to destroy the snake.

He rolled into a sitting position and, ignoring the look of trepidation she shot his way, he pulled Hermione against his chest and clung to her for a brief moment. She locked her arms around his neck and leaned close enough to press her lips softly to his cheek.

"We don't have a choice," she sighed in his ear, and he nodded resolutely. Together, they stood and waited for Harry to tell them what they had to do.


	43. the Shrieking Shack

**AN: Hey there everyone! I can't thank you enough for continuing to stick with the story. For any new comers, you're troopers if you read the whole thing! Thank you for all the favorites and followers and brilliant reviews. Keep them coming – it keeps me writing. (That was not meant as an ultimatum.) Annnyway, on to the story!**

"He's in the Shrieking Shack. The snake's with him, it's got some sort of magical protection around it. He's just sent Lucius Malfoy to find Snape."

Hermione's jaw dropped. As much as she detested Voldemort – and she did, with every ounce of feeling she possessed – the thought of hundreds of his followers fighting on his behalf, ignorant or indifferent to the fact that he was holed up and out of harm's way made her blood boil.

"Voldemort's sitting in the Shrieking Shack? He's not – he's not even _fighting_?"

"He doesn't think he needs to fight. He thinks I'm going to go to him."

"But why?"

"He knows I'm after horcruxes – he's keeping Nagini close beside him – obviously I'm going to have to go to him to get near the thing –"

"Right." They both turned to Ron, who had spoken. "So you can't go, that's what he wants, what he's expecting. You stay here and look after Hermione, and I'll go and get it –"

Now Harry chimed in with, "You two stay here, I'll go under the Cloak and I'll be back as soon as I –"

They were mad if they thought she would allow this.

"No, it makes much more sense if I take the Cloak and –"

She saw Ron's expression a moment before he interrupted, "Don't even think about it!"

His concern was, admittedly, endearing, but there wasn't time for him to be foolish and sentimental. It had to be her – if only because the thought of either of them going made her ill.

"Ron, I'm just as capable –"

"POTTER!" Two death eaters stood where the tapestry had hung moments earlier.

Everyone raised their wands. Hermione, however, pointed hers at their feet.

"Glisseo!"

As she planned, they flattened into a long slide and shot right through the tapestry at the bottom. Knowing that the death eaters were only moments behind, she spun around and cried, "Duro!" and flinched to hear the sound of their bodies crunching on the now solid stone.

She was still turned away when Ron shouted, "Get back!" She did without question, flattening herself against the door in time to miss being trampled by a herd of desks. McGonagall followed, and they heard her scream, "CHARGE!" as she darted out of sight.

Hermione willed her brain not to go into its usual panic-overdrive and focused on the most important task at hand – Harry.

"Harry, you get the cloak on – never mind us –"

He ignored her and threw it over the three of them. She didn't protest anymore. It was clear that none of them were ever going to give. They ran through the castle passed crumbling stone, dust and distant shouts of spells. Hermione pushed herself to keep up and was glad when Ron's free hand grabbed hers.

They hurried into the corridor at the end of the stairs and stopped in their tracks. Students and death eaters dueled with incredible speed, too quick for her, Harry or Ron to intervene, even as they waited with their wands raised.

"Wheeeeeeeeeee!"

They looked up in time to see Peeves throwing Snargaluff pods at the death eaters. She was amused for only a moment before several hit Ron's head and stuck to it.

Hermione pointed her wand at them and silently sent them flying away, but it was too late.

"Someone's invisible there!"

She would have stunned him, but Dean Thomas was quicker, and the masked man fell with a thud. Dolohov pointed his wand at the boy, but Parvati Patil trapped him in a body bind curse.

"LET'S GO!"

She couldn't agree more, and they took off running again. When they arrived in the entrance hall, Hermione scowled to see Draco Malfoy and nearly snarled when they were close enough to hear his pathetic pleas to a masked death eater.

"I'm Draco Malfoy, I'm Draco, I'm on your side!"

Harry, mercifully, stunned the man. Ron, to her unashamed pleasure, grabbed Malfoy and punched him, hard, in the jaw.

"And that's the second time we've saved your life tonight, you two-faced bastard!"

_Merlin, he is attractive_.

Hermione flushed and pushed the trivial thought from her mind. Even so, she wished she had a spare moment to reflect with him about how nice it felt to hit Malfoy.

Flitwick, Yaxley, Kingsley, Neville, Hannah Abbott – so many familiar faces, Hermione could barely breathe as she shot spell after spell into the chaos, hoping that one might help. They arrived at the house hourglasses just in time to see two students fall from the high balcony overhead.

Hermione's gut twisted and she felt Ron freeze beside her – Lavender Brown lay still and unmoving. Suddenly, the streaking body of Fenrir Greyback leapt across the hall toward her. Hermione came rapidly to her senses and, rushing forward, screamed, "NO!"

Light blasted from her wand, and Fenrir Greyback slammed into the wall behind him. She would have felt triumphant if it weren't for Lavender still lying before them. Hermione felt sick staring at her old roommate's body – if she was –

"I have more! More for any who want them! Here!"

She glanced up to see the old Divination professor pelting the crowd of death eaters below with large crystal balls. A moment later, the doors burst open and Hermione screamed as a mass of spiders scuttled in. Ron's hand grasped hers so tightly that she could picture the blood rushing from it. As wands turned in the direction of the arachnid army, she noted briefly how easily enemies were made allies by way of a common threat.

"How do we get out?"

Hermione opened her mouth to scream back that they might be able to apparate now that the defensive walls were down, but was distracted by Hagrid who appeared from the din and sprinted passed them, towards the spiders.

"Don't hurt 'em, don't hurt 'em!"

This was a scene straight out of a nightmare, except that her dreams were never this bizarre.

"HAGRID, NO!"

Harry threw the cloak off of himself and sprinted after the half giant.

"Harry! No!"

Ron and Hermione followed at a run, the cloak trailing behind them.

"HAGRID, COME BACK!"

It was like watching a train wreck – Hagrid disappeared and Harry stood there looking lost and heartbroken and like he had forgotten entirely that he was supposed to be invisible and making his way to Voldemort.

"HAGRID!"

They kept running and the knot in her chest was there – she didn't know whether it was because of how utterly broken Harry looked or because Hagrid was somewhere in the grotesque pack of spiders before them.

"HAGRID!"

All three of them were to the entrance steps when a gigantic foot crashed down. In the dark, Hermione thought for one moment that it had crushed Harry, and she screamed. Then he flew back and almost toppled into them.

"OH MY –"

She raised her wand and pointed it into the darkness that was the giant's face.

"DON'T!" Ron reached with his free hand to grab hers. "Stun him and he'll crush half the castle –"

"HAGGER?"

The three of them gaped as Grawp, Hagrid's baby brother, rounded the corner. Helpless, Hermione watched in horror as the much larger giant launched himself at Grawp.

"RUN!"

Harry snatched her hand in his and tore away, into the dark grounds. Ron followed them. Neither Ron nor Hermione asked what Harry was doing. They both knew that he was not heading towards the Whomping Willow yet because he was still hoping to save Hagrid. They knew because they hoped the same thing.

As opposed to every other time they'd ever ventured into the forest, this time was without hesitation. All of the forest's horrors seemed to be congregated at Hogwarts anyways.

They ran, dodging trees and branches. She was already panting for breath when her lungs and the air around her froze in the thickest of griefs. Dementors.

Fred, Hagrid, Lavender – how many more would be taken tonight? Her parents were gone, and the likelihood of her, Ron and Harry surviving the battle was astronomically low.

She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to picture her happiest memory – All the ones she could think of were useless against the powerful hopelessness. She was ready to give in when she felt Harry's weight leaning against her own. He was teetering.

"Come on, Harry! Patronuses, Harry, come on!" She shook his arm, but the effort was halfhearted as the misery closed in around them. Harry raised his arm, and she felt a sliver of hope, but it fell almost as quickly and he leaned further into her.

"HARRY, COME ON!"

She saw Ron's dog burst from his wand, and she tried her otter, but it did nothing more than swim through the air for a moment and then fade. She swayed, she wanted to go, now. She was ready for this horrible darkness to end. She was ready to surrender, for the weight of it all to be off her shoulders.

Three patronuses flew passed them, and the crowd of dementors shrunk back. Harry, Ron and Hermione looked around to see their saviors – Luna, Ernie and Seamus.

"That's right. That's right, Harry … come on, think of something happy …"

Hermione had been foolish before – there were so many happy things. Dancing at the wedding, receiving her first letter from Hogwarts, summers at the Burrow, evenings in the common room laughing with Harry and Ron until her sides ached.

"We're all still here – we're still fighting." Luna was right – that was the happiest of all. "Come on, now…"

Harry's stag burst from his wand and the dementors were gone.

Ron turned to thank the other three, but relief was short-lived. A giant ambled from the forest, headed straight towards them.

"RUN!"

Harry's shout fell behind them, for they'd already bolted.

"Let's get out of range!"

"The Whomping Willow! Go!"

They ran and jets of light flew on all sides of them. She didn't look at anything except the ground in front of her until a jet of light came straight for her face. She was surprised when, rather than hitting her, it ricocheted. She looked closer and realized that there was a shield charm hovering between her and the rest of the battle. She looked at Ron and saw that, indeed, he was holding the spell while sprinting towards the forest.

She wanted to tell him to stop, to focus on running and keeping himself safe, but she could not breathe. She shook her head at him, but he pretended not to see and kept the charm intact.

They finally reached the tree. Harry jogged around the trunk, but Hermione let him go ahead. She doubled over and nearly collapsed. Ron came to a stop next to her. "You – you –all right?"

She could only nod and wheeze. With difficulty, she followed Ron to where Harry was still running around looking for the knot in the wood.

"How – how're we going to get in? I can – see the place – if we just had – Crookshanks again –"

Hermione was irrationally upset that they were being so daft that she would have to speak.

"Crookshanks!" She gasped and clutched at her sides. "_Are you a wizard or what_?" She said it with all the breath she could muster, and then doubled over again.

"Oh – right – yeah –"

He flew a twig to the knot and hit it right on target.

"Perfect!"

"Wait."

They both turned to Harry, who looked conflicted and pained – no surprise there. Why he still thought he could convince them to let him go about these things alone was beyond her.

"Harry, we're coming, just get in there!"

_Couldn't have said it better._

Harry squeezed into the tunnel first, and they followed. It was infinitely more difficult than when she'd been fourteen. For one, they'd at least been on their feet then. Now she was on all fours, a position uncomfortable to begin with but made more so when crawling on hardened, lumpy earth.

As they crawled further and further in, Hermione thought about the last time she met Voldemort face to face - the panic, the overwhelming terror. She found her heart racing like a hummingbird. Could these be her last few minutes alive? She didn't want to be crawling along a muddy tunnel for the remainder of her life – Merlin …

She caught sight of a light at the end of the passageway and shoved the invisibility cloak up to Harry. "The cloak! Put the cloak on!"

He took it from her, covered himself with it and he muttered, "Nox."

They inched up far enough that they were at the entrance to the tunnel and they could hear mumbled voices. Her heart was in her throat as Harry moved close enough to press his ear to the room's entrance.

Hermione strained to listen, but she could barely hear anything. She thought she recognized the inflections of Snape's voice and waited, on edge.

"– and it is doing so without your help." Hermione's insides froze. Still supporting herself on all fours, she began to tremble. Every word was clear, cold and cut like knives that she couldn't have missed if she tried. "Skilled wizard though you are, Severus, I do not think you will make much difference now. We are almost there … almost."

Snape's reply was muffled again, but she heard "Potter," and "please." She put together the meaning herself and seethed with rage.

"I have a problem, Severus." His voice had dropped nearly to a whisper, but she could still make out each word. She heard poison in each syllable and somehow knew that whatever was about to happen would be grotesque.

She was shaking in earnest now, both from supporting her weight and from that awful, intrusive voice. Suddenly, a hand covered hers. She nearly cried out, but realized it was Ron just in time. He moved closer until his other hand was in her hair, and ran his fingers gently through her curls.

She was amazed at how quickly he knew and responded to her stress. Her quaking stopped, and she closed her eyes and did her best to sink into Ron and out of the trap of Voldemort's voice.

She cringed each time she heard "Potter," ready to kill either of them if they so much as looked at Harry. She sunk further and further under Ron's arm and, though she could feel him trembling as well, his fingers never stopped.

"I have told you no!" Voldemort's anger was impossible to ignore. Hermione thought back on the cruciatus curse and wondered if, when he spoke, he took his inspiration from the feeling of that acute torture. "My concern at the moment, Severus, is what will happen when I finally meet the boy!"

She leaned forward, every sense telling her that this was important. Snape mumbled something she could not make out and then, " –but there _is_ a question Severus. There is."

"Why did both the wands I have used fail when directed at Harry Potter?"

Hermione remembered the moment – seemingly a lifetime ago – that Harry had claimed his wand had acted of its own volition and all of the adults listening had greeted it with skepticism. When would they learn to trust him?

"Can't you? My wand of yew did everything of which I asked it, Severus, except to kill Harry Potter. Twice it failed. Ollivander told me under torture of the twin cores, told me to take another's wand. I did so, but Lucius's wand shattered upon meeting Potter's."

Hermione knew very well about Voldemort's plans to kill Harry and she was certainly no stranger to torture. However, hearing it from the cold lips of Voldemort himself made it all too real. Judging by Ron's sharp intake of breath, he felt it as well.

"I sought a third wand, Severus. The Elder Wand, the Wand of Destiny, the Deathstick. I took it from its previous master. I took it from the grave of Albus Dumbledore."

Hermione hardly noticed how violently she was shaking again until Ron's arm tightened around her shoulders.

Snape muttered something about "the boy" and Hermione knew all too well who he meant.

"All this long night, when I am on the brink of victory, I have sat here, wondering, wondering, why the Elder Wand refuses to be what it ought to be, refuses to perform as legend says it must perform for its rightful owner … and I think I have the answer."

Hermione's skin crawled and she knew that every living creature in the dark wizard's vicinity could hear the doom that was about to befall their ex-professor.

"Perhaps you already know it? You are a clever man, after all, Severus. You have been a good and faithful servant, and I regret what must happen." Snape muttered something unintelligible. "The Elder Wand cannot serve me properly, Severus, because I am not its true master. The Elder Wand belongs to the wizard who killed its last owner. You killed Albus Dumbledore. While you live, Severus, the Elder Wand cannot be truly mine."

Snape's next words were clear as anything. "My Lord!"

"It cannot be any other way. I must master the wand, Severus. Master the wand, and I master Potter at last."

Hermione was stunned – everything about the Deathly Hallows was true. And she was absolutely certain that her Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts professor was about to die. And what would happen when Voldemort _was_ the master of it? How could Harry stand a chance?

A horrible, hissing noise came from above. Next, a blood curdling was hissing, the sound of a lunging snake, and then a heavy thud on the wooden floor above them.

"I regret it."

They listened as Voldemort swept from the room. Hermione shook so hard she thought it would take a while for mobilization to return. Harry, on the other hand, immediately inched forward.

"Harry!"

He ignored her, and moved the crate above his head with his wand. He was gone in the next moment, and she had no choice but to follow. With Ron's help, Hermione dragged herself out and immediately squeezed her eyes shut as she took in the pale, blood covered death eater.

Harry knelt next to Snape, who yanked Harry close to his face. For a moment, the Headmaster of Hogwarts only gurgled, but he managed to get out, "Take … it … take … it."

Hermione noticed, for the first time, a silvery, floaty liquid drifting from his mouth, ears and eyes. She recognized it immediately as memories and, without thinking, summoned a flask from the purse still down her sock. Ron and Hermione watched as Harry filled it.

Snape looked truly, horrifically dead when he finally hissed, "Look … at … me." Harry stared into his eyes and they all watched as Severus Snape died on the blood-soaked floor before them.

None of them moved for a long moment.

"You have fought valiantly."

The three of them jumped, spinning to look at the entrance. Voldemort's voice, however, was not coming from there. No, it was coming from the walls, the ceilings and from inside their very minds.

"Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured. I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you."

Hermione's fists clenched.

"You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour."

She shook her head and stepped toward him, burning with rage.

"Don't listen to him."

"It'll be all right. Let's – let's get back to the castle, if he's gone to the forest, we'll need to think of a new plan."

She refused to leave any room for argument. Her eyes were drawn to Snape's body, still lying in a puddle of blood, one last time. She tore them away, and turned back to the tunnel. Relieved, she heard their footsteps behind her. Hermione processed this new twist in events. How in Merlin's name were they going to destroy the last horcrux and keep Harry safe now? Obviously they'd have to accompany him into the forest at some point, but how could they get the snake and kill Voldemort and fend off the guard that assuredly would accompany him there?

Silence greeted them as they exited the forest. None of them spoke, but Hermione reached out to grab both Ron and Harry's hands as they walked.

Inside the castle, there were blood stains and wreckage littered across the entrance hall, but no people.

"Where is everyone?"

Still hand in hand, Ron stepped towards the Great Hall. They trailed behind him, and Hermione felt trepidation growing inside of her. She was almost certain that she was not ready to see what might be on the other side of the doors.

She was right – masses of people clearly in mourning and, worse than anything she'd ever seen, rows and rows of bodies that she knew were not asleep.

The group of red hair was easy to spot. Hermione's bottom lip trembled when she caught sight of Ginny, who had obviously been crying very long and very hard. Hermione strode over to her with her arms outstretched. Ginny fell into her embrace and held on firmly, but did not cry. They only stood there, no words necessary. Ginny buried her face in Hermione's hair and Hermione understood that she wanted nothing more than to escape the sound of the sobs surrounding her.

When they finally pulled away, Ginny moved to her mother's other side and gripped her hand. Molly transferred her head onto her daughter's shoulder and Ginny held her while she continued to wail. Hermione stood, uncomfortable in the midst of mourners. She felt as though the horrific, acute pain she felt as she stared at Fred's body was a mockery of the nightmare each member of the Weasley family was going through. She felt like she had no right to be present for such a moment.

She was about to look around for Harry when she noticed Fleur, looking as uncomfortable as she felt, tears streaking down her stunning face. Hermione approached her.

"Fleur …"

The beautiful woman turned her daunting stare on Hermione, but she did not shy away as she normally would.

"'e always was so kind to me," Fleur said, as though explaining her tears. "Eef I ever felt unwanted een zat house, 'e tried to make me laugh."

Hermione nodded, and then she was caught up in an embrace with Fleur Delacour. She held the older woman for a long time. Bill approached out of the corner of her eye, and Fleur squeezed Hermione one more time before turning to fall into his arms. Hermione looked instinctively around for Ron who stood quite still, staring at a point above her shoulder with an awful expression on his face.

Hermione turned around, dreading what she might find.

"_No_," she gasped, and fell to her knees next to the frozen bodies of Remus and Tonks. Ron was there a moment later. He knelt beside her and pulled her against his chest, just as she knew he would. Guilt spread through her – how could she let him comfort her when he was the one who should be falling apart?

"Ron, Ron, I'm so sorry."

He held her tighter and kissed the top of her head. They didn't speak for a long moment, and it was he who broke the silence.

"I can't do this. I can't do this with anyone else." His voice sounded childish and pleading. It trembled and cracked as she hadn't heard it do since third year. Her heart broke all over again, and she wanted to assure him that he wouldn't have to, that everyone else would be all right. But she couldn't – she couldn't promise him that they wouldn't watch more people they loved die tonight.

She hated herself for the only words she could say honestly.

"Yes. You can."

He buried his face in her neck and cried in earnest.


	44. Empty Threats

**AN: You folks are WONDERFUL and I appreciate every favorite, follower and review. Hope you enjoy and please, with a million cherries on top, tell me what you think! I'd like to know any critiques you have, if you enjoyed it or you didn't, and anything else. **

Ron didn't know how long he stayed crouched in Hermione's embrace. He only knew that the tears kept coming – just when he thought it might be over, a new wave hit him. It felt as though he were in the middle of a torrential downpour with something unpleasant coming in on all sides, invisible behind the rain. His tears held him in a strange state of limbo and denial. Hermione felt real, the throbbing in his chest felt real, and nothing else.

"Neville, Seamus and I are going to recover more bodies."

At the sound of Dean's nearby voice, Ron lifted his head. Two stretchers away, Seamus and Dean stood by Neville, who'd been talking quietly to Hannah Abbott.

"Right – right, I'll help. Stay here, Hannah? They'll need more people who know their way with plants. Any that can be used medicinally…"

She nodded, and the three boys shuffled off.

Ron turned to Hermione, who was staring after them, aghast.

"What is it?"

"More bodies…" she mouthed, eyes wide.

He couldn't think about it – he didn't want to know how many there already were or how many still waited, cold and lifeless, to be found.

"I reckon maybe … we should help?" He heard his words – heard them break and heard how unsure he sounded.

Hermione nodded. "Right – Harry?"

They both looked around for the answer. Ron froze, and he felt Hermione do the same.

"Harry?"

Reluctantly, Ron stood and helped Hermione to her feet after him. "He can't have gone far," he said immediately. He could tell that she was on the verge of hysterics.

"No … he's probably …" she trailed off as her gaze searched the great hall to find only stretchers where Harry ought to be.

His chest constricted in fear and anger. If Harry planned on giving himself up, Ron would kill the git. If Voldemort didn't get to him first. The idea made his heart pound.

"Merlin, Merlin, he didn't, he wouldn't –"

They were already racing towards the doors. They made it breathlessly out and into the entry hall, but did not break pace as they made for the front entrance.

"Hermione, wait!"

"What is it, Ron?"

She paused, but looked like she was anxious to keep moving.

"The memories! From Snape – wouldn't he have –"

Her eyes lit up. "Ron! Brilliant!"

Pleased, Ron grabbed her hand. "Come on!"

The two of them darted through the halls to the stone gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office. Ron realized that it currently belonged to no one. Unless, of course, McGonagall was the headmistress now.

"Password?"

Hermione sighed in frustration.

"Password? I don't know the password! I just need to find my friend!"

The statue stared back at her with empty eyes of stone.

"Alohamora!" she cried desperately, and even Ron could have told her that it would never work.

Frustrated nearly to the point of tears, Ron slammed a fist in a nearby wall.

"Now, son. No need for such behavior."

Startled, Ron and Hermione turned to face the painting that had addressed them. It was a graceful, old witch sitting atop a horse.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, intimidated by the regal woman.

"No need to apologize. What is making you so angry?"

"We need to find Harry – Harry Potter!" Hermione interrupted. "Have you seen him?"

"Black hair? In a hurry?"

They nodded emphatically, and the woman gave a saucy smirk.

"Roguish good looks?"

Once, this description of Harry, especially in front of Hermione, would have made Ron's stomach tighten in jealousy. Now, however, he only nodded.

"Yes – he ran into the headmaster's office only a few minutes ago."

Hermione let out the shaky breath she'd been holding. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

The woman, with an elegant dip of the head, smiled her acknowledgement and cantered down the hall of frames.

"I'll kill the bleeding wanker!" Ron growled. Hermione ignored his questionable language and threw herself at him in a tight hug.

"He's all right!"

He held onto her, equally as relieved.

"I'll still kill him."

She laughed softly into his neck.

Ron asked if they should wait for Harry to come out.

"No … no, I think he'll want to be alone."

Ron set Hermione down and pulled away. "Blimey, woman, the way you read people."

She smiled, and he wondered if the sadness that now touched it would be permanent.

"We should probably go and help find bodies, then." Her words were no more than a whisper. Ron grimaced, but nodded his assent.

As they walked, Ron wondered why his heart still ached strangely – Harry was fine …

_Fred was dead._

If only for a moment, the thought had been driven from him in lieu of the panic and then relief for Harry. Now it hit him all over again, like a ton of bricks.

"Ron? Ron, what's the matter?"

Hermione stared up at him, her face contorted in worry. He realized he'd stopped moving.

"I can't believe he's gone."

She squeezed her eyes shut, and then slid an arm around his waist. His went around her shoulders, and they trudged back to the great hall arm in arm. On their way, they helped several of those who had fallen on the ground towards the hall. Ron felt acute relief each time a body stirred. One didn't, and he stood there, frozen, before Katie Bell and Alicia Spinnet edged their way around him to haul the body onto their shoulders.

Hermione's fingers wrapped tightly around his own.

"Ron … Ron, let's keep moving, come on."

"Where's Harry?"

Ginny's voice greeted them just before they reached the great hall.

"He's in Dumbledore's office."

Her face relaxed in immediate relief.

"So he's not …?"

Ron and Hermione shook their head in unison.

"No, Ginny, we're not going to let him."

Ron nodded his agreement to Hermione's words. "She's right. Even if he's daft enough – which I hope he's not – he'd never get through us."

Ginny nodded resolutely. "Good. What's he doing in there?"

"Honestly, we're not really sure. It's a long story."

"I've got time."

Ron let Hermione explain what had happened with Snape and Voldemort. Ginny's expression remained impassive through the entirety, up until the very end.

"His memories? He just gave them all to Harry? What is he trying to do? Torture him more? Show Harry what a hell he's made Hogwarts? He's nothing but a monster."

Ron nodded, but he could see that Hermione was hesitant.

"You disagree?"

She only shrugged. "I don't care what anyone thought or said or called into question – I still trust Dumbledore's judgment. I never could wrap my mind around his being so wrong about something so huge. And after watching the way Snape looked at Harry today … I don't know, I just feel there's more to the story than we can see."

Ron stared at her in amazement.

"Hermione … you've always been unbelievably forgiving, but this is a stretch, even for you."

Ginny nodded. "He's right. Hermione, you haven't been here the last year. If you could have seen the number of students tortured –" Hermione visibly recoiled at the thought " –and under his power. First and second years – just little kids! He stood by and not only let it happen, but encouraged it."

Hermione chewed on her lip. "I suppose you're right, but there must be something we don't know. Either way, we'll know soon. Harry can't take too much longer with the Pensieve."

"Meanwhile," Ginny interjected, "They need help in the hall and on the grounds. There are a lot of people wounded and not nearly enough healers."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a glance. He inclined his head towards the hall and she nodded.

"We'll help heal, then."

"All right. I'm off to the grounds. Neville's organized a search party."

Ron grinned fondly. "He's off and become a leader without us."

Ginny rewarded this with a small smile. "You've no idea." With that, she left.

They entered the great hall and walked to the far end of it where the wounded were laying or sitting up on cots or the floor. Angelina Johnson cradled a bloody leg. Her face was filled with pain, but Ron was willing to bet money that she would try to down play whatever was wrong. Hermione approached her with a no-nonsense expression.

"What's wrong with your leg, Angelina?"

"Nothing. Tend to the others, I'll be fine."

Hermione knelt beside the older girl and gently lifted her hand away from the wound. Ron's eyes widened. The gash was long, deep and oozing both blood and a nauseating orange pus.

"It's poisoned – how did this happen?'

Angelina rolled her eyes. "One of those bleeding plants – turns out the bad guys can hurl foliage as well as anyone."

"All right … this shouldn't be too difficult to fix if it's only plant induced." Ron and Angelina looked to Hermione as she directed her wand at the area surrounding the wound. "Tergeo." Blood and pus cleared, leaving the gash clean.

"It's worse than I thought." She muttered mostly to herself as she worked. "Reparifors. Oh, good, the poison is clearing up. I was hoping that would work that way. Merlin, it's deep though. Vulnera Sanentur … yes, that seems to be doing it. Don't want to overdue that one … maybe Episkey. Oh, perfect, it's closed up." She located her hand bag and retrieved the small bottle of dittany. "And here, so it won't scar –"

Ron stared in awe at her and wondered if she'd ever consider being a healer.

"No, Hermione. Honestly, there are people here that are going to need what little you have left of that much more than I do. Anyway, I like scars."

"All right. You're good to go, then."

Angelina smiled and stood up. "You're quite good at that, you know?"

Hermione smiled sadly. "Yes, well, it's not a skill I enjoy needing to use."

"Even still, you'll need it today."

They watched Angelina stride away.

"She's right. You were brilliant."

"Between you and Harry I've had a lot of practice," she shrugged, and moved to attend to the next person. Ron trailed behind her and helped where he could. Periodically, they checked the entrance for Harry's return. Time passed in a blur – too many faces and injuries and cuts and wounds and scars of one sort or another that would never heal completely.

"Ron, Hermione!"

They stopped what they were doing and turned around to see Neville hurrying towards them. They waited for him to speak.

"Where's Harry? I thought you'd be with him."

"He's in Dumbledore's office, something with Snape's memories …"

"Oh," Neville exhaled in relief. "Good. When I saw him on the grounds, it looked like he might be headed away from the castle."

Ron and Hermione exchanged an alarmed glance.

"What do you mean, you saw him on the grounds? When, what did he say?"

"It was awhile back – he told me he had to do something … said it was part of the plan."

Ron felt a cold sense of dread settle in his stomach.

"Did he say what? Was he trying to give himself up?"

Neville started to look worried. "No, he said that it was something different. He told me that if you two were busy I should kill the snake?"

Hermione's face went white. "Why wouldn't he be here to do it himself?"

Ron turned to her. "No, Hermione, there has to be a logical explanation. Maybe he did see Neville before he went up there, we don't know –"

"Come on, we have to go check!" For the second time in the space of an hour, they ran together from the great hall. Ron fought the feeling that they were already too late – that going back to Dumbledore's office would only waste precious time.

Hermione skidded to a halt in front of the gargoyle and pointed her wand at it with a manic fury in her eye. "Harry Potter!" she gasped. "Did he leave here?"

The gargoyle stared back at them.

Ron looked desperately around for another helpful portrait, but all that greeted him was empty frames.

Hermione advanced on the statue. "So help me, I will blast you to bits if you don't speak _now_ like I know you can."

Ron didn't envy the gargoyle – he thought Hermione bore an uncanny resemblance to his mother at the moment.

"Harry Potter is gone."

Each word came like a physical blow to the gut.

"No."

They didn't need any glances or words of agreement now. They charged together down staircases and through halls towards the entrance. Harry – they had to get him before it was too late.

"HARRY POTTER IS DEAD."

The shrill, invasive voice was enough to halt them both in their tracks. Ron clutched at his ears before he processed the words and stood stalk still.

"HE WAS KILLED AS HE RAN AWAY, TRYING TO SAVE HIMSELF WHILE YOU LAY DOWN YOUR LIVES FOR HIM. WE BRING YOU HIS BODY AS PROOF THAT YOUR HERO IS GONE.

"THE BATTLE IS WON. YOU HAVE LOST HALF OF YOUR FIGHTERS. MY DEATH EATERS OUTNUMBER YOU, AND THE BOY WHO LIVED IS FINISHED. THERE MUST BE NO MORE WAR. ANYONE WHO CONTINUES TO RESIST, MAN, WOMAN, OR CHILD, WILL BE SLAUGHTERED, AS WILL EVERY MEMBER OF THEIR FAMILY. COME OUT OF THE CASTLE NOW, KNEEL BEFORE ME, AND YOU SHALL BE SPARED. YOUR PARENTS AND CHILDREN, YOUR BROTHERS AND SISTERS WILL LIVE AND BE FORGIVEN, AND YOU WILL JOIN ME IN THE NEW WORLD WE SHALL BUILD TOGETHER."

"No. He's bluffing."

Hermione's voice was high and thick with denial.

"Of course he is."

They weren't running now – it was as though they had lost the ability. Ron floated, unable to think or feel, to the entrance hall. Masses of fighters swarmed around them, flanked them as they made their way to catch Voldemort in his lie – for nothing else could explain the impossible words – that Harry Potter was dead.

"NO!"

The echo came from someone who had already made it outside. Ron's stomach churned, but he refused to believe it. Harry, even in his worst nightmares, had _always_ lived. No matter how hellish or dreadful things were, he had never doubted Harry's survival. They depended on it.

They finally broke free of the doorway, crossed the threshold and had a clear look at the opposing side – Voldemort, his death eaters and there … there was Hagrid and in his arms –

"NO!" Ron's bellow shattered the silence, and in a haze of blind hatred, he raised his wand and charged at Voldemort.

Before he could even make it more than a step, strong arms grabbed around his middle and yanked him back. Somewhere inconsequential and distant, he heard Hermione's wail and Ginny's shrieks. And one voice closer, stronger and in his ear.

"No, get back!"

He resisted, shouted curses and turned to face his restrainer.

Molly Weasley glared fiercely at him, tears streaming from her eyes. "I WILL NOT LOSE YOU TOO!" she growled, and the fight drained from him. The crowd around him roared and shouted, but he stared limply at his best mate, cold and lifeless.

This was worse than Fred's death – When Fred died, all the happiness was sucked from the world. But Harry's death took the hope.

The chaos was growing in volume until, with a deafening shriek, Voldemort silenced them. "It is over! Set him down, Hagrid, at my feet, where he belongs!"

As Harry's body was lowered to the ground, Ron felt someone next to him collapse. He turned, and saw that Hermione had fallen to her knees. With Voldemort's curse in effect, no sound escaped, but with a horrible, distorted expression, she mouthed , "Harry," again and again through a waterfall of tears.

"You see? Harry Potter is dead! Do you understand now, deluded ones? He was nothing, ever, but a boy who relied on others to sacrifice themselves for him!"

With each of Voldemort's words, Ron's fury grew. No – Harry's death did not rob them of hope. Harry still had an army behind him, dead or not. His anger built until, with one great effort, the words that tore from his chest shattered the silencing charm.

"HE BEAT YOU!"

The crowd roared their agreement and approval – Voldemort could not sully the name of Harry Potter.

"He was killed while trying to sneak out of the castle grounds, killed while trying to save himself –"

A body suddenly flew at Voldemort, but was struck back by a powerful disarming spell. Neville hit the ground with a reverberating thud.

They all fell silent, this time not by the force of Voldemort's spell.

"And who is this? Who has volunteered to demonstrate what happens to those who continue to fight when the battle is lost?"

Bellatrix laughed and Ron thought of Malfoy Manor and raised his wand, ready to defend Neville.

"It is Neville Longbottom, my Lord! The boy who has been giving the Carrows so much trouble! The son of the aurors, remember?"

"Ah, yes, I remember. But you are a pureblood, aren't you, my brave boy?"

"So what if I am?"

Ron couldn't help the swell of pride – Ginny had been right. They had no of idea the man Neville had become.

"You show spirit and bravery, and you come of noble stock. You will make a very valuable death eater. We need your kind, Neville Longbottom."

"I'll join you when hell freezes over! Dumbledore's Army!"

Ron's cheers came out involuntarily. Hermione was again standing, and shouted with them.

"Very well. If that is your choice, Longbottom, we revert to the original plan. On your head, be it."

Voldemort summoned the sorting hat, and they all stared, entranced, as it flew into his long fingers.

"There will be no more sorting at Hogwarts School. There will be no more houses. The emblem, shield and colors of my noble ancestor, Salazar Slytherin, will suffice for everyone. Won't they, Neville Longbottom?"

In a split second, Neville was petrified and Voldemort strode towards him and pulled the hat as far down as it would go on his head.

Ron, Hermione, and countless others around them tried to rush forward, but were stopped by a blocking charm from the death eaters before them.

"Neville here is now going to demonstrate what happens to anyone foolish enough to continue to oppose me."

They watched in horror as the hat burst into flames, and Neville with it.

Then, noise above that which the crowd could have made rained down on them – Grawp stumbled from around the castle, and a huge stampede of centaurs followed, their arrows flying at the wall of death eaters. Ron, instinctively, did what he always did when chaos broke out – he grabbed Hermione's hand.

They ran together towards Neville, and then paused, stunned as the boy in question jumped from the chair, reached into the sorting hat and pulled out a most familiar sword. Nagini was mere yards from him, and he crossed the distance in no time and, with one swift stroke, parted the head from its body.

Hermione and Ron cheered midst the din, and Voldemort cried out in fury. They shot protection charms between him and Neville, even as Hagrid shouted louder than anyone else.

"HARRY! HARRY – WHERE'S HARRY?"

They spun to look at the spot of empty ground where, only moments ago, Harry lay dead.


	45. Victory

**AN: Sorry this one's a bit short, and sorry if I'm swamping you all with updates! The end is too close for comfort! How in Merlin's name are there only five chapters after this one to write? (Yep, five chapters, folks.) Anyway, you are the greatest. Thanks for sticking with it and/or stumbling across it and being willing to plod through it all. Leave your thoughts, yeah?**

"Where is he, what have they done with him?" Hermione cried. She glanced from side to side with fury and horror.

Ron probably answered her, but there was no way to tell as bedlam broke loose across the field. Giants, centaurs and thestrals flooded in with no rhyme or reason, until the crowd was rolling back into the castle, to the great hall. Spells flew on all sides.

"HERMIONE, BEHIND YOU!"

Ron's shout couldn't have come a moment too soon – she whirled around to find Rudolphus Lestrange with his wand pointed at her face. He wasn't conscious long enough to shout a curse, however, as a blast from Ron's wand hit him with such force that he crumpled to the floor.

They half dueled and half ran all the way to the great hall. Streams of light jetted centimeters away from Hermione's ears. She fired spells at every death eater she could see – Thicknesse, back on his feet, nearly took out an unsuspecting Slughorn before her stunning spell sent him to the ground again. Two hooded death eaters were taken down by her jelly legs jinxes and her shield charm erupted just in time between another death eater and Charlie Weasley.

Hermione dueled, ran, avoided awry curses and kept Ron in the corner of her vision, all while battling an unimaginable grief. Harry. Not Harry. How could he have gone off and done what he said he wouldn't? How could he have done it? How could he be _gone_?

_Focus. You have to focus. _

Suddenly, Greyback was before them, leering above Ginny's turned back.

"Like hell, you filthy mutt!" Ron snarled, and shot a powerful protection charm between them that nearly knocked Greyback off of his feet. He spun around to face the distraction, but Hermione couldn't stick around to help Ron. She was more concerned with the opponent Ginny had been so focused on – Bellatrix Lestrange. Luna fought beside her, and Hermione ran to join them.

As she suspected, Bellatrix was more than equal to their combined strength. Sweat dripped from her brow and her arm trembled. Still, they battled, curse after curse flying, narrowly dodging the girls. Hermione felt sick to see the way Bellatrix's smirk played across her features, the way her wand flicked leisurely in response to their vicious, desperate slashing. This was nothing but a game – they weren't even wearing her down.

With a final gleam, and in an instance too quick to process, she directed her wand at Ginny and smiled. "Avada Kadavra."

Ginny had already ducked out of the way of the green light, but as she raised her wand again, another voice carried over the din around them.

"NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!"

The three of them turned in shock as Molly Weasley ran towards them with the speed of someone half her age.

"OUT OF MY WAY!"

More than Hermione, Ginny and Luna were mesmerized by the scene – it seemed as though the entirety of the hubbub had silenced to watch Molly Weasley, mother of seven, face down the most powerful witch alive. That, and to watch the duel between Voldemort and McGonagall, Slughorn and Kingsley.

The first blast of heat exploded from Molly's wand, and the three girls stepped back. Immediately, though, Ginny moved forward again, wand raised. She looked helpless. The women were dueling with such speed and blasting force that there was no way of ensuring a proper shot.

"Mum!" Ron joined their watching circle, and they all jumped as a long fissure split the floor beneath them.

Ron, Ginny, and several other students rushed forward in a hapless attempt to help.

"No! Get back! _Get back! _She is mine!"

Now, Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Percy and George were at the scene as well, but remained reluctantly on the sidelines. Their faces reflected how Hermione felt – terrified, proud, and utterly impressed by the sheer impossibility of what they were watching.

"What will happen to your children when I've killed you?" The whole Weasley family stepped forward with their wands raised, but it was still too dangerous to assist. Not to mention, Molly was certainly holding her own.

"When Mummy's gone the same way as Freddie?"

"You – will – never – touch – our – children – again!" Every word of Mrs. Weasley's was punctuated with a jet of light, but Bellatrix only cackled her evil, maniacal laugh. It was insane, and entirely confident. And then, in the next moment, a furious purple light collided with her chest.

The audience seemed to inhale simultaneously as Bellatrix's eyes widened and realization dawned in them. Then she thudded to the floor, but the bang was drowned out by the resulting shout of the crowd.

Voldemort's furious scream pierced through it all, and with a great blast, the three he was dueling flew backwards and collided with walls before slumping to the floor.

The Dark Lord now turned, and with a look more evil than any Hermione had seen, he pointed his wand at Molly.

In a moment, eight wrathful Weasleys, Hermione, and countless other spectators would have shot protective enchantments that, they knew, would be moments too late. But they never got the chance.

"PROTEGO!"

Hundreds of fighters looked confusedly around for the source of the shield charm that erupted in the middle of the room, between Voldemort and Mrs. Weasley.

"It couldn't be…" Ron murmured, and Hermione knew that he had noticed, too, that the spell was shouted with an eerily familiar voice…

And then he was there, standing before Voldemort with his wand raised.

"HARRY!" Hermione shrieked, and it was lost in a tumult of other voices.

She, Ron and Ginny clung to each other with shouts and cheers of elation. They moved forward, but as Harry and Voldemort began circling each other, the force sizzling between them seemed to refuse approach.

"I don't want anyone else to try and help. It's got to be like this. It's got to be me."

Now they looked between each other with horrified glances. How could they learn of his survival only to stand by and let him face Voldemort alone?

"Potter doesn't mean that. That isn't how he works, is it? Who are you going to use as a shield today, Potter?"

"Nobody. There are no more horcruxes. It's just you and me. Neither can live while the other survives, and one of us is about to leave for good."

Hermione shivered – she had never seen Harry speak or move with such commanding power. And right now, his every word was drenched in it.

"One of us? You think it will be you, do you, the boy who has survived by accident, and because Dumbledore was pulling strings?"

"Accident, was it, when my mother died to save me? Accident, when I decided to fight in that graveyard? Accident, that I didn't defend myself tonight, and still survived, and returned to fight again?"

Hermione felt like crying, or cheering, or both.

"ACCIDENTS! Accident and chance and the fact that you crouched and sniveled behind the skirts of greater men and women, and permitted me to kill them for you!"

"You won't be killing anyone else tonight," said Harry, and there was no room for argument. "You won't be able to kill any of them ever again. Don't you get it? I was ready to die to stop you from hurting these people –"

"But you did not!"

" – I meant to, and that's what did it. I've done what my mother did. They're protected from you. Haven't you noticed how none of the spells you put on them are binding? You can't torture them. You can't touch them. You don't learn from your mistakes, Riddle, do you?"

"_You dare_ –"

"Yes, I dare. I know things you don't know, Tom Riddle. I know lots of important things that you don't. Want to hear some, before you make another big mistake?"

Voldemort and his audience waited with bated breath.

"Is it love again? Dumbledore's favorite solution, _love_, which he claimed conquered death, though love did not stop him falling from the tower and breaking like an old waxwork? _Love, _which did not prevent me stamping out your Mudblood mother like a cockroach, Potter, and nobody seems to love you enough to run forward this time and take my curse. So what will stop you dying now when I strike?"

Every cell in her body urged Hermione to rush forward and prove Voldemort wrong – to show him that she would die a hundred deaths for the man that stood before them. But some strange, powerful force held them all back. She knew that this was not her fight.

"Just one thing."

"If it is not love that will save you this time, you must believe that you have magic that I do not, or else a weapon more powerful than mine!"

"I believe both." Harry's words were clear and forceful and, painfully obvious to everyone in the room, full of truth.

Voldemort's horrible laugh filled the ears and the minds of everyone watching the scene.

"You think _you_ know more magic than I do? Than _I_, than Lord Voldemort, who has performed magic that Dumbledore himself never dreamed of?"

"Oh, he dreamed of it. But he knew more than you, knew enough not to do what you've done."

"You mean he was weak! Too weak to dare, too weak to take what might have been his, what will be mine!"

"No, he was cleverer than you. A better wizard, a better man."

Harry's tone remained calm, only serving to more effectively accentuate how foolish and petulant Voldemort sounded. Hermione scanned the faces of the crowd and was unsurprised to see death eater's fidgeting anxiously – as nervous as they were captivated.

Good. So they were learning something she had known for a very long time – to never bet against Harry.

"I brought about the death of Albus Dumbledore!"

"You thought you did. But you were wrong."

The crowd stirred, all of them wondering the same thing – could Dumbledore be _alive_?

"DUMBLEDORE IS DEAD! His body decays in the marble tomb in the grounds of this castle, I have seen it, Potter, and he will not return!"

"Yes, Dumbledore's dead."

Hermione felt a blow of disappointment.

"But you didn't have him killed. He chose his own manner of dying, chose it months before he died, arranged the whole thing with the man you thought was your servant."

"What childish dream is this?"

"Severus Snape wasn't yours. Snape was Dumbledore's, Dumbledore's from the moment you started hunting down my mother. And you never realized it, because of the thing you can't understand. You never saw Snape cast a patronus, did you, Riddle? Snape's patronus was a doe, the same as my mother's, because he loved her for nearly all of his life, from the time when they were children. You should have realized. He asked you to spare her life, didn't he?"

A million puzzle pieces rushed through Hermione's mind, as so many things fell together, and tears sprang inexplicably to her eyes.

"He desired her, that was all. But when she had gone, he agreed that there were other women, and of purer blood, worthier of him –"

"Of course he told you that, but he was Dumbledore's spy from the moment you threatened her, and he's been working against you ever since! Dumbledore was already dying when Snape finished him!"

Tears fell in earnest now as Hermione only began to comprehend the amount that one man – one man they'd all branded as a traitor, one man that now lay dead in an abandoned shack – had done.

"It matters not! It matters not whether Snape was mine or Dumbledore's, or what petty obstacles they tried to put in my path! I crushed them as I crushed your mother, Snape's supposed great _love_! Oh, but it all makes sense, Potter, and in ways that you do not understand!

"Dumbledore was trying to keep the Elder Wand from me! He intended that Snape should be the true master of the wand! But I got there ahead of you, little boy – I reached the wand before you could get your hands on it, I understood the truth before you caught up. I killed Severus Snape three hours ago, and the Elder Wand, the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny is truly mine! Dumbledore's last plan went wrong, Harry Potter!"

"Yeah it did. You're right. But before you try to kill me, I'd advise you to think about what you've done … Think, and try for some remorse, Riddle…"

"What is this?"

"It's your one last chance. It's all you've got left … I've seen you you'll be otherwise. Be a man … try … try for some remorse."

"You dare –"

"Yes, I dare, because Dumbeldore's last plan hasn't backfired on me at all. It's backfired on you, Riddle."

Comprehension dawned on Hermione, and she understood what she could see Voldemort was still missing. She, for all of her disbelief and skepticism, had done her research better than anyone on the Elder Wand.

_It must be taken by force. _

"That wand still isn't working properly for you because you murdered the wrong person. Severus Snape was never the true master of the Elder Wand. He never defeated Dumbledore."

"He killed –"

"Aren't you listening? _Snape never beat Dumbledore!_ Dumbledore's death was planned between them! Dumbledore intended to die undefeated, the wand's last true master! If all had gone as planned, the wand's power would have died with him, because it had never been won from him!"

"But then, Potter, Dumbledore as good as gave me the wand! I stole the wand from its last master's tomb! I removed it against its last master's wishes! Its power is mine!"

Hermione's heart sank – he was right.

"You still don't get it, Riddle, do you? Possessing the wand isn't enough! Holding it, using it, doesn't make it really yours. Didn't you listen to Ollivander? _The wand chooses the wizard_ … the Elder Wand recognized a new master before Dumbledore died, someone who never even laid a hand on it. The new master removed the wand from Dumbledore against his will, never realizing exactly what he had done, or that the world's most dangerous wand had given him its allegiance … the true master of the Elder Wand is Draco Malfoy."

"But what does it matter? Even if you are right, Potter, it makes no difference to you and me. You no longer have the phoenix wand: We duel on skill alone … and after I have killed you, I can attend to Draco Malfoy…"

"But you're too late. You've missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took this wand from him."

Hermione felt her jaw slacken and waves of chills roll up her arms and spine.

"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it? Does the wand in your hand know its last master was disarmed? Because if it does … _I_ am the true master of the Elder Wand."

The crowd digested this bombshell, just as the Dark Lord and the boy who lived shouted together,

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"

"EXPELLIARMUS!"

A bang rocked through the hall, flames and light smashed together, and a wand flew through the air. For one moment it was impossible to tell from whom it had come or where it was going. And then it fell in an arc, towards Harry. The crowd watched in suspended shock as Harry reached out and snatched it from the air.

And they watched as Voldemort – more evil, powerful and darker than any other wizard in history – crumpled to the floor.

Dead.

The magnitude of what had happened did not have time to sink in, because Hermione and Ron were not about to wait for such trivialities. They rushed forward, broke free of the crowd, and ran for the only soul that mattered, their savior and best friend. Hermione was sobbing because he was here, real and in her arms.

"You're alive! You've done it!"

"I knew you would, we knew you would!"

It didn't seem to have sunken in for Harry yet. He gripped both of them with fierce arms, but his face still betrayed shock. Ron clapped him on the back and Hermione heard him mutter, "You ever scare me like that again and I'll kill you, mate."

Harry laughed, but they were pushed aside the next moment by hordes more people – Ginny, Luna, Neville, the Weasleys and teachers and so many others that Harry had saved.

Hermione didn't stop crying and laughing when Ron pulled her into his arms and twirled her around. She held onto him fiercely, buried her face in his neck and relished in the knowledge that the war was won, and all of the hunger, anger, discomfort and constant fear for their safety was finally over.

When he let her go, she was immediately enveloped in more arms – so many people embracing and weeping – she hugged Molly, Luna, Lee, Fleur, Neville, Seamus, McGonagall, Hagrid – no one seemed to care who their arms flew around. She turned around and there was Ginny – this time she held on for longer than any of the others.

"He's alive," Ginny laughed, and Hermione had never heard a happier sound.

"Of course he is."

Hermione saw, over Ginny's head, that death eaters were skulking from the room. It didn't matter now. She watched Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy find their son and cling to him with tears and relief and a joy that mirrored the expression in the victors' faces.

Her heart leapt – her parents. They were safe now. She could find them again.

"You better find a way to ditch this crowd and get him alone," Ron said, suddenly by her side again. For a moment, Hermione thought he was addressing her, that all of his past jealousy and insecurity was rising to the surface again, but she realized that he was looking at Ginny.

The redhead in question smiled and looked at the mass of people that surrounded Harry.

"I'm in no hurry. We have all the time in the world."

Ron's hand found Hermione's.

"That's true. You've off and gotten all wise on me."

There was sadness in Ginny's eyes when she shrugged. "Well, rest assured, it wasn't by choice."

The three of them looked to the far corner of the room where the bodies of the dead were grouped. Someone had concealed them behind a protective enchantment during the fighting, but they were visible again.

After that, they couldn't seem to muster the celebratory mood anymore.

"You know, it's funny that this day is going to be written in history and taught about in classes, and it will always be a day of celebration."

"It _is_ a day of celebration."

"I know. But at what cost?"

They scanned over the rows of cots holding dozens of fallen war heroes.

Ron walked slowly towards the bodies, and she followed.

Of course, there would be time to celebrate. But first, they had to mourn.


	46. Confrontations

**AN: Hello everybody! Just wanted to say a quick thank you for the continued reviews, favorites, followers, etc. You are swell. Also, two apologies – first, I was rereading some of the earlier chapters, and so much of this story is fraught with typos! You are extraordinarily patient, and I very much appreciate that. Second, sorry this took so long to get out! Anyway, on with it then. **

Ginny, Hermione and Ron leaned against the far wall and watched the crowd around them with mild amazement. Slytherins, Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws and Gryffindors were scattered throughout the hall among parents, teachers and centaurs. Ron saw Blaise Zabini laughing with Seamus. Next to them, he could see Hagrid bent over Firenze, applying ointment to his many wounds. He saw Kingsley in the middle of an earnest conversation with Neville.

Speaking of Neville, Ron grinned as Hannah Abbott walked over and slid her hand into his.

Hermione raised her eyebrows and turned to Ginny. "How long has that been going on?"

Ginny snorted. "Depends on which timeline you're referring to. How long have they fancied each other? A damn long time. How long have they been holding hands? Not sure, but before I left, he could barely muster the courage to speak to her without turning red and dropping something. It's lucky for them that they got the Room of Requirement to replenish all the supplies he broke."

"Yeah, except I don't imagine you'd get much privacy in there," Ron said wryly, and Ginny laughed.

"You're right … I have no idea how they've managed. Maybe they snuck out and found a broom cupboard."

Ron flushed. Even after everything, the mention of cavorting in a broom cupboard seemed too obvious with Hermione standing right here and their kiss hanging in the air.

He looked down at the witch in question and was surprised to see that her cheeks had gone a little pink as well.

"Well I'm happy for them anyways," she said airily, brushing it off.

"Ron! Ginny! Hermione!"

The three of them looked up to find Horace Slughorn approaching. As he walked, he repaired his previously magnificent robes.

"Hello, professor," Hermione nodded, always cordial.

"We owe you our thanks," Slughorn said and clapped Ron and Hermione on the shoulders. "And you –" he addressed Ginny, "It wouldn't have been … ah … prudent for me to openly support you, of course, with what was going on here, but you showed gumption this past school year."

Ginny didn't seem to know what to say. Ron could tell that she was battling within herself, and could guess that whatever hell the students of Hogwarts had gone through, they'd found no relief with Horace Slughorn.

"Erm … thank you," she finally mustered, and he looked satisfied. He clapped them once more, made some unintelligible comment about heroism and bravery, and tottered off.

"Bleeding coward," Ginny muttered. Hermione looked mildly scandalized. "I expect he wanted to make sure there were no hard feelings considering our side actually managed to win."

"He did fight with us," Hermione said fairly.

"He also stood by and watched as eleven year olds were tortured in _his dungeons_."

Neither Ron nor Hermione had anything to say to this. He felt a piercing sense of regret that they hadn't been at Hogwarts to help somehow. True, their quest was important, but he couldn't forget what his sister had lived through while he'd been off searching for horcruxes.

Bill appeared out of the crowd, then. "Hey. Glad you found 'em all right."

Ron reddened and nodded. "Yeah. Me too."

"I knew you would."

He disappeared again.

Ron felt extremely claustrophobic, suddenly. There were too many people and he was so tired. It was hard to believe that he hadn't slept since before they'd broken into Gringotts. It felt like a lifetime ago – and it was – a lifetime in which he rode dragons and Fred was alive.

"I have to get out of here," he muttered, and he knew Hermione would follow when he made a beeline for the door.

She was jogging by the time they made it into the hall. She reached forward and tugged him by his wrist to a slower pace. He adjusted so that his fingers were in hers instead, and started to walk.

"I wonder how long it'll take before it all sinks in."

"I don't know if I want it to."

"Neither do I."

"None of it feels real."

Ron thought of all the things Hermione could have meant by this – the deaths of so many close to them? The war being over? Voldemort's death? Their kiss?

He thought maybe she meant more than that – their journey to destroy the horcruxes, not returning to Hogwarts for their final year – all of the events from the past year that felt like a dream from someone else's life.

"No. But it was."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but they were stopped by the sound of someone whimpering around the corner. They shared a glance of trepidation and then headed in the direction of the noise.

"Thicknesse!"

The ex-Minister of Magic huddled by a tapestry, clutching himself and rocking. He peered at them with wild eyes full of fear.

"I'm sorry – I never meant – it wasn't me, please!" He cowered and stumbled backwards.

"We're not going to hurt you!" Hermione said and moved towards him. Thicknesse only tripped and fell to the ground.

"You – I recognize you both. I never…. I'm sorry …" Tears streamed down his face.

Hermione touched a hesitant hand to his shoulder.

"Minister … sir, you were Imperiused – it wasn't your fault."

The pathetic man shook his head violently. "Yes. It was – I was there … I saw it happen. I watched, I didn't feel any remorse, I just … horrible … unspeakable things …" He dissolved into sobs.

"You were made to! You can't be blamed for it. Honestly, please –"

"I killed innocent people!"

Ron looked at Thicknesse and thought about the moments before Fred died – Thicknesse had been there, casting spell after spell at rapid-fire speed. For all any of them knew, his curse had been the one to end Fred's life, and for a moment, anger flared up in Ron's gut.

Then he felt sick. Thicknesse was innocent. He knew that. And Ron understood regret – it was easily his least favorite emotion. The level of regret that Thicknesse was feeling had to be miserable.

"_You_ didn't kill anyone! It was someone else's decision to do those horrible things." Hermione's voice was pleading.

"Tell that to their families."

His words hit Ron like physical blows. It felt like ages before Ron could make himself speak, but it was probably only a matter of seconds before he said, "Their families would forgive you."

Hermione glanced questioningly at him, obviously able to hear the struggle in his voice. She looked from Ron to Thicknesse, then back to Ron, and when her eyes widened he knew that she realized. Tears sprung to her eyes, and she reached out a hand this time to comfort Ron.

"Their families know as well as anyone what Voldemort was capable of," Ron continued quietly.

For a moment, a flicker of hope burned in the man's eyes. "Was?"

"Voldemort's dead, mate. It's all going to be all right."

"D-dead?"

"Yeah – I reckon that's why you woke up."

Now Thicknesse's tears were more earnest.

Ron thought of the reason they'd left the great hall in the first place – Fred. And now here they stood, consoling a man who had likely killed him. He felt the same tug in his gut that he had in the great hall and a desperate urgency to get away from the scene. Hermione looked over at him, and he could see that she understood.

"It will be all right, I promise," she said. "When you're ready, the great hall is full of members on our side – they'll understand."

With a final pat on the man's shoulder, Hermione used her grip on Ron's arm to lead him away. She didn't stop until they'd reached an empty classroom a few corridors over, and she pulled him inside. She shut the door, and began rummaging through her handbag.

"What are you looking for?

Her hand emerged from unnatural depths clutching a tattered piece of paper.

"Is that –"

"The Maurader's Map? Yes. Somewhere in the scuffle I managed to grab hold of it."

She pointed her wand at the cover. "I solemnly swear I am up to no good."

Ink appeared, along with small shoe prints mostly concentrated in the great hall. Hermione ran her finger over the map until it rested on Gryffindor Tower. To his dismay, there were quite a few names mulling around the common room.

"Well that's no surprise, but I hoped," she sighed.

"I don't mind sitting in here."

She smiled. "No, neither do I. But I don't much fancy these hard chairs."

She waved her wand and one of the tables transformed into a squashy sofa.

There were few things that had ever looked more inviting to Ron – Hermione, of course, was one of them – and both were here. Together, they collapsed onto the cushions, legs tangled together.

"Thank you," he mumbled, and was asleep before she had time to reply.

Some time later, Ron woke up with a start. In took him a moment to register that a loud crash had been the cause of the premature interruption, and one more moment for him to shove himself in front of a barely stirring Hermione and point his wand at the source of the noise.

"Weasley!"

Ron's jaw dropped. Draco Malfoy was on the ground, tangled in a heap of limbs with a girl Ron recognized to be in Slytherin, maybe two years below them. Next to them, a desk was toppled over.

"What in Merlin's bloody name are you doing?" Ron growled.

Malfoy, face flushed, jumped to his feet. Then he reached down and helped the girl up.

"Nothing. Honestly, we were just looking for somewhere with some quiet – we thought it was empty, and then saw you two …" Ron could tell that Malfoy was only now registering the scene before him, and his thin, yellow eyebrows raised. "…and the sofa."

Ron could feel his own face burning now. "Oh yeah? And, naturally, your next course of action was to make as much noise as possible? Couldn't leave us in peace for one _bleeding_ moment?"

"What's going on?"

Hermione blinked awake and looked around, bemused and worried.

"Your boyfriend is going mental for no reason."

They all turned to the younger girl standing beside Malfoy. Her hip was jutted out.

"No, Astoria, it's fine –"

"No. It's not. I _accidentally_ knocked over a desk because you startled us. And we _accidentally_ tripped over it and _accidentally _woke you up, and now he's angry at you for nothing!"

Ron rolled his eyes. "For nothing? You have no idea – "

Hermione reached over and laid a hand on his arm.

"Sorry – we're all a little on edge," she said fairly, and Malfoy, without looking her in the eye, nodded and pulled Astoria after him out the door.

Ron flopped back on the arm rest. "Stupid git."

"Yes … he is … but did you notice how different he was?"

He stared at her with blatant disbelief. Was she really expressing concern about the emotional state of Draco Malfoy?

"Well, think about it, he was torn between two sides and forced to fight on the bad side, and now him and his family will be punished for it forever even though it was never really his choice."

Yes. Apparently she was.

"Hermione … _no one_ is forced to fight on the bad side. Look at Sirius. Or Tonks's mum. Or Snape, even."

"But he was born and raised into a family that taught him to hate muggles and muggle borns!"

"Again, look at Sirius. Or Tonks's mum. Malfoy _chose_ to be a sniveling coward."

He thought of all the years of insults and harassment. He thought back to Malfoy Manor, when he stood by and watched as they tortured Hermione. He thought of the Room of Requirement, when he attacked them and they still saved him. He thought of minutes later when he turned coat and professed to be on Voldemort's side again. And he thought that it might take a little longer to forgive Draco Malfoy than, say, Thicknesse.

"I know … I just can't help feeling a bit sorry for him. For the whole family."

Ron sighed. "And that's why you're a better person than I am."

"I'm not."

He snorted. "It's a bit mental to see you so wrong."

She obviously didn't want to fight it, so she just rolled her eyes and stood up.

"Come on. Harry's going to need us soon."

"Yeah. And he has a lot of explaining to do."

They walked in comfortable silence for a few hallways before Ron reached over to grab her hand. He kept forgetting he could do that for no reason at all now. She looked over at him and smiled that strange, sad smile that he worried was permanent.

So, testing his luck further, he pulled her hand up to his mouth and softly kissed her palm. She sniffed, and he was alarmed to see her eyes shining with tears.

"Hermione …"

She shook her head, so he dropped it, but he thought he understood. They continued in silence, hands swinging between them, to the great hall.

"Where have you two been?"

Molly Weasley stared at them without any of her usual fire. Her entirely lackluster demeanor was more terrifying than anytime she'd ever yelled at him.

He found himself stuttering a reply.

"I – we – well it was just … we were tired –"

Molly smiled sadly at them. "Of course – you both must be exhausted. Harry looks like he might collapse at any moment, poor dear."

"Yeah – we were just coming back to make sure he didn't need anything."

His mum nodded and patted his shoulder. "I'm so proud of you."

Ron felt a knot at the base of his throat. Blimey, would he never run out of tears? He gulped hard.

"Thanks, mum."

She squeezed his shoulder and then moved away, back to the small cluster of red heads in the far corner of the great hall.

"Where's Harry?"

Ron looked over the crowd until he spotted a head of messy, black hair. Harry was in the middle of an earnest discussion with Kingsley Shacklebolt, McGonagall, and Flitwick. Others – Hagrid, Andromeda Black, and Oliver Wood – stood waiting to speak to him.

"He's being passed from person to person – he's a very wanted man."

Hermione sighed. "I don't know how much more of it he can take."

"Should we stage some sort of intervention? Do you have the invisibility cloak you could throw over him?"

"No – he has that. He'll be all right. But he'll want to talk to us eventually."

Ron nodded. "Then I guess we better wait here."

"Yes. Merlin, though, I don't want to talk to people."

He agreed, and so they skirted the walls and made their way to the table in the furthest corner. They sat together on the bench and Hermione leaned her head on his chest which was not uncommon these days, but still remarkable considering the company they were in.

"What a day."

He felt Hermione laugh sadly. "Two days."

"Right … we rode a dragon."

"I impersonated Bellatrix."

Ron snorted. "That was easily the scariest thing I saw today."

"Yesterday."

"That was yesterday … blimey." He paused. He couldn't decide if it was stranger that the events had taken place a whole day ago, or that it was only yesterday.

"I feel like –"

"Granger. Weasley."

Hermione jumped straight up in her seat, and Ron forced himself not to scowl.

"Cormac! Hello …"

"So you two finally decided to show up?"

Ron bristled, Hermione just gaped.

"Excuse me?"

"Well it's been a long time since anyone here has seen you – the three _champions_ of our cause."

Ron couldn't help but reply scathingly, "Yes, we've been relaxing at home and thought we should _deign_ to lift our fingers and help out at the very end of all the struggle."

Cormac rolled his eyes. "It's a nice thought, but most of the struggle happened a long time before today at this school."

"He was being ironic, McLaggen. Of course we haven't been relaxing!"

He snorted. "No? Well have you been manipulated? Endangered every day –"

They nodded along to his words.

"Tortured?"

Ron froze, and he could feel Hermione stiffen beside him. Almost without thought, he moved to stand up. Before he could, however, he felt Hermione's hand fall on his knee.

"You know, I would not attempt to compare our hardships. We were all doing what needed to be done, you, I'm sure, more than anyone, and I think we should leave it at that."

"No, no, why don't you tell me what _exactly_ you three were up to while we were here trying to keep ourselves from torture and harassment by the bloody Carrows?"

McLaggen's face was turning red from anger. Ron could guess that his looked about the same. Hermione's hand tightened on his knee.

"No, you're right Cormac, we did mostly nothing. Please leave."

McLaggen ignored her request and instead stared smugly down at the both of them – specifically at where Hermione's hand was still visible on Ron's leg.

"I knew you wanted Weasley."

They were both speechless for a moment.

"Erm … oh?"

"You know, I always wondered if you were only with me to make him jealous."

It was strange – Ron could see the moment that Hermione's resolve finally snapped.

"I was not _with_ you, McLaggen."

"Oh, sorry, we never did make it official, but it was obvious you wanted to be."

Hermione's jaw clenched. "And what, might I ask, gave you that idea? And why would I have wanted to be with you if you think I only asked you to the party to make someone else jealous?"

McLaggen chuckled. "It's all right, Granger, I know I was wrong about the jealousy thing. I just wondered for a bit there."

"Oh, you were wrong, were you? So the party had _nothing _to do with Ron and everything to do with how much I fancied _you_?"

"Yeah – I mean, it was hard to miss the signals last year. I noticed that first Quidditch try out – you couldn't take your eyes off me … and then there was the time you tried to kiss me."

Ron had, honestly, been mostly enjoying the scenario up until this point. However, at McLaggen's last revelation, his jaw dropped.

"_What_?" he and Hermione demanded at the same time.

McLaggen, on the other hand, was definitely still enjoying the scenario. He smirked.

"What, Granger, you think I forgot how you tricked me into standing underneath the mistletoe with you?"

"Tricked _you_? Merlin! Did it mean nothing to you that the moment you were under the mistletoe I disappeared? You didn't see me again the rest of the night!"

"I understood that you were nervous."

"I was hiding behind a curtain!"

He looked confused. "Blimey. Didn't realize you were _that_ nervous. Must've been ages since you'd gotten a good snog."

"I was not nervous! Except that you were going to make me snog _you_!"

By the puzzled expression, Ron gathered that the poor bloke was still missing the point.

"Make you – but you were the one who wanted to snog me!"

"No. No, I was not."

"Well what about Quidditch tryouts? I know you were staring at me then. I remember, because I winked at you and you blushed."

"I – no, that's – absurd, honestly…" Hermione spluttered.

Ron wanted to wipe the arrogant grin off of McLaggen's face.

"Don't worry about it. I reckon I may have fancied you for a bit there too." He walked away without another word.

"What a horrible, pompous wart!"

Ron wholeheartedly agreed, but he was more worried at the moment with the fact that Hermione hadn't disagreed with Cormac when he claimed she'd stared at him.

"Right but … erm, what was that last bit about?"

"What last bit?"

She was an atrocious liar.

"Come off it. Why were you staring at McLaggen?"

A thought entered Ron's head, and he tried to brush it off, but couldn't.

She screwed her face into one of the least convincing expressions he had ever seen. "Honestly, Ron, you can't tell me you believe him. He has a history of making up scenarios that stroke his overly large ego."

"Of course I didn't believe him. Until you avoided the question."

"I didn't avoid the question."

"All right. Were you staring at him?"

She stayed silent.

Ron smirked. "Did you fancy him?"

"No!" Her tone was deeply offended. He hadn't thought she did – he was growing more and more certain that his original suspicion had been correct.

"You confunded him, didn't you? Just like Ginny thought in sixth year. That's why he let in the rest of the quaffles."

Again, she said nothing.

"Hermione!"

She shrugged. "I knew you were just nervous – you were the better keeper."

"I wouldn't have been the keeper at all – he would have played better than me!"

She smiled. "Maybe. But he didn't."

He wanted to be angry, but he was also deeply flattered. "He should have gotten the spot."

"Harry tried that, remember? And you saw how well _that_ turned out."

Ron chuckled to remember exactly what had happened when Cormac was allowed on the team. He sent the captain to the hospital wing and was the cause of the most humiliating loss Gryffindor suffered in years.

"I suppose he would have been a nightmare."

"Exactly. You should thank me."

Ron put his arm around her and pulled her close enough to kiss the top of her head.

"Thank you, then, you rotten cheater."

She settled back against his shoulder.

"How else do you think I did so well in classes all these years?"

"And here I thought you were just bright."

"Fooled you."

"I can't believe you confunded him."

She sighed. "I take it back. I was staring at him because I fancied him. Desperately."

"I knew it."

"Insufferable."

"He really is."

"I was not talking about McLaggen."

Ron chuckled. "I know."

"Good. Because you are."

"Cheater, cheater."

She slid her arm around his back.

"You're welcome."

He rested his chin on her head and smiled to think that not once had she tried to deny that she'd only ever taken McLaggen to that party to make him jealous.

Maybe someday he'd tell her how effective it had been.


	47. Stars

**AN: So, to address some questions from last chapter, Cormac McLaggen repeated his seventh year at Hogwarts which is why he was there for the year with the Carrows. **

**Also, I have been writing this next chapter in my head for about a year now. I'm not sure that I'm entirely satisfied with the result, but I hope you enjoy!**

**Thank you a million times over for all of the continued support. You are wonderful!  
>Please review<strong>

**AN^2: Also, just wanted to clarify ... in my version of events, Lavender was attacked by a Greyback who was not yet changed, so her injuries were not fatal and were not even very serious. She probably has a mild concussion and some scratches healed by some dittany. She may even have a craving for raw meat after this. It's very possible that Rowling's intent was for her to die which, if that is the case, would make the conversation in this chapter extremely insensitive and crass. However, call me optimistic and naive, but I'm pretending she recovers with little trouble :) Sorry about that!**

"Where did his girlfriend go?"

Hermione, who had been lost in a lovely world of Ron's smell and semi consciousness, blinked and looked to where he was staring.

"Malfoy's?"

"Yeah – he's just with his parents right now. Where'd the bird go?"

"Bird?"

Ron flushed. "Girl."

Hermione rolled her eyes, and thought that it was lucky for him that she was too tired to press the matter.

"I'm sure she went to find her own family."

"Probably."

They trailed off into exhausted silence. Hermione's eyelids grew heavier and harder to keep elevated. Ron's shoulder was the most comfortable thing she'd felt in ages.

"Falling asleep?"

The voice was sluggish and distant. "Mmm?"

"I'll take that as a yes."

"Mmhm."

Ron chuckled and her head bobbed slightly up and down.

"What do you reckon is going on over there?"

Hermione reluctantly opened her eyes and looked a few tables over. Luna was pointing direly out the window with a crowd gathered around her. They stared out the window as well.

"Dunno," she sighed and settled back into Ron's shoulder.

"It's me. Will you come with me?"

Hermione jumped a little at the sound of Harry's disembodied voice. She and Ron stood, and made their way to the entrance of the great hall. They couldn't see Harry, but occasionally his feet peeked from under the cloak.

Once out of the hall, Harry pulled off the invisibility cloak and passed it to Hermione. She stuffed it wordlessly into her handbag.

There was a lot they were missing from the story since before Harry had left. Eventually, she would insist on filling in the holes, but she was content letting Harry get to it on his own time. None of them mentioned the broken walls on all sides or the rubble that littered the hallway.

"We did it, we bashed them, wee Potter's the one, and Voldy's gone moldy, so now let's have fun!"

Hermione smiled faintly to hear Peeves belt his song from several hallways over.

"Really gives a feeling for the scope and tragedy of the thing, doesn't it?"

Ron held the door open for her and Harry.

"I suppose you two are wondering what you missed."

Hermione looked over. Apparently the holes would be filled in sooner than she thought.

"Right you are," Ron confirmed lightly.

"So the last you saw me was …"

"Before you left the great hall. And we talked to the paintings near Dumbledore's office and they told us you had gone up, so we assumed you were looking in the pensieve –"

"I was."

"Right – we figured that one when you announced to Voldy and the rest of us that Snape was, in fact, a double _double_ agent and was mad for your mum."

Harry laughed drily, and recounted for them the events that had transpired in the pensieve.

"He tried to save …"

"George. Yeah."

Ron shook his head in utter disbelief.

Harry finished with the most shocking statement of all.

"So Dumbledore knew that I would know to turn myself over."

"No. He couldn't have meant for you to –"

"He did. He knew that there was a horcrux inside of me and he knew that for Voldemort to die, I'd have to die first."

Hermione shook her head, horrified. Harry smirked a little and patted her arm. "'s all right Hermione. Obviously I didn't stay dead

"Stay… but that makes it sound like you _were_ dead…"

Harry nodded, and Hermione felt ill.

"Oh Merlin, Harry."

"So I saw Neville – I told him to kill the snake. And then I headed towards the forest."

At this point, Ron made a noise in his throat. "Bloody _hell_, Harry, you can't just prance off to give yourself up without telling anyone!"

"Who would I have told?"

Hermione wanted to scream at him that he should have told her and Ron at least, but she understood why he didn't. They would never, in a million years, have let him go.

"I see your point, mate, but … blimey, if you ever do that again I will kill you."

Harry sighed. "If there was ever a chance to do it again, I'd probably get offed this time and you wouldn't have to."

Hermione shivered to think what could have happened. She was still riveted to hear how it didn't. "But Harry, you still haven't told us how you escaped!"

"I'm getting there. First of all, I figured out how to open the snitch. And it had the resurrection stone inside of it."

She listened raptly as he described his interaction with his parents, Sirius and Remus. He brushed over it quickly and she could tell that it was because it made him emotional.

"I'm glad you weren't alone," she murmured.

She shrunk into herself as he told them about how he'd walked into the middle of a crowd of waiting death eaters. How Hagrid had sobbed. He told them about his encounter with Dumbledore and Hermione could hardly breathe for the wonder of it all. And, most shocking of all, how the only reason he'd survived was Narcissa Malfoy's lie.

"And that's when he carried you back to the castle?"

Harry nodded. "It was awful hearing you guys scream."

Ron snorted. "That must have been trying. Definitely when compared to what it felt like to see you lying there _dead_."

Harry looked up at them both. "I know. I'm sorry. But then you know what happened after that."

"Yeah … we know you were dead and then suddenly squaring off with Voldemort."

Harry laughed drily. "I was under the invisibility cloak fighting where I could."

"Ah. That makes more sense."

They reached the stone gargoyle that had already caused them so much trouble today. It was lopsided and Hermione wondered who else it might have frustrated.

"Can we go up?"

"Feel free." The gargoyle's words were slurred.

At the top, Harry inhaled deeply before he pushed open the door. And then there was the startling noise of applause and she and Ron looked around to see the headmasters and headmistresses of Hogwarts standing and clapping for Harry. Hermione and Ron brought their own hands together and clapped along. Dumbledore sat before them, weeping. His face held so much pride. Ron and Hermione, grinning, exchanged a look.

Harry held up his hands and they all fell silent.

"The thing that was hidden in the snitch – I dropped it in the forest. I don't know exactly where, but I'm not going to go looking for it again. Do you agree?"

"My dear boy, I do. A wise and courageous decision, but no less than I would have expected of you. Does anyone else know where it fell?"

"No one."

"I'm going to keep Ignotus's present, though."

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief.

"But of course, Harry, it is yours forever, until you pass it on!"

"And then there's this."

He held up _the_ wand, and Hermione and Ron fell silent. Harry, with that wand, was more powerful than anyone in the room.

"I don't want it."

For some reason, Hermione found herself breathing another sigh of relief.

"What? Are you mental?"

"I know it's powerful. But I was happier with mine. So …" He rifled through the pouch around his neck and she knew what he was looking for. He pulled out both halves of his old wand and she prayed it would work.

"Reparo."

The wand sealed and red sparks shot from the tip. Hermione beamed.

"I'm putting the elder wand back where it came from. It can stay there. If I die a natural death like Ignotus, its power will be broken, won't it? The previous master will never have been defeated. That'll be the end of it."

Dumbledore nodded and Hermione felt enormous affection for Harry.

"Are you sure?" Ron asked quietly.

"I think Harry's right."

"That wand's more trouble than it's worth. And quite honestly, I've had enough trouble for a lifetime."

Hermione couldn't agree more.

After they'd left the office, Harry spoke up first. "I just want to take a nap in my four poster."

"That sounds wonderful."

The three of them made their way to Gryffindor tower. They entered the common room and Hermione exhaled in relief. It was empty. They walked up the stairs to the boys' dormitories and pushed open the door, and it was as though it had waited there untouched for them all this time. Harry and Ron's beds were just as she remembered.

Harry made a longing noise in his throat and headed for his four poster. Before he could get far, however, Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him into a hug. His arms came around her and held her tightly. "You're a hero, Harry."

He sighed. "You two are the heroes."

They pulled away from each other a bit awkwardly, but then Ron stepped in and embraced Harry as well. "You did it, mate."

Then, without another word, they stumbled to separate beds – Hermione took Seamus's – and collapsed in heaps on top of them.

Hermione dreamed that she was on a dragon. It was taking her somewhere and she knew that under no circumstances was she to allow it. Something dreadful would happen if she arrived. The dragon taunted her in a high, cold, penetrating voice. It told her that when she arrived, Harry and her parents and so many others she loved would be gone.

"You survived my torture. You won't survive this."

Hermione pleaded with the dragon to let her go, but the horrible voice only laughed.

Suddenly, she was not alone. Someone's arms were around her waist. She turned around and Ron smirked at her.

"Ron! Thank heavens you're here!"

"Hermione, are you a witch or not? You have to jump!"

She'd never thought of that – and now it seemed so obvious. She looked over the side of the dragon and beneath her she could only see clouds.

"I can't, Ron! My parents and Harry are gone!"

"They're fine, Hermione. You just have to jump!"

"I'm afraid."

He grabbed her hand and smiled. "I'm right here. I'll jump with you."

They stood up on the back of a dragon. She squeezed her eyes shut and together they leapt.

Hermione jerked awake. Something that she couldn't put a finger on was off. She scanned the room around her, but couldn't see anything.

"Lumos."

The boys' dormitory lit up, and she moved it until the light fell directly on Ron's bed. It was empty. She held it up so she could see the rest of the room – the one on the other side of Harry was now occupied. She tip toed over to see who it was and smiled when she realized it was Ginny.

She checked a small clock on the night stand. It was 11:00 – they'd been sleeping for nine hours.

She went back to Seamus's bed and retrieved her handbag.

"Accio map."

The marauder's map came soaring out.

She first searched for Ron in the bathroom. She couldn't find him there, so she ran her finger over the common room. There were other people now, but no Ron. She held it back and scanned the paper as a whole. Immediately his name stood out. His dot moved through the castle halls, towards the entrance.

Hermione didn't even think before she stood and left. She followed his dot to the grounds, and watched it stop by the lake. She rushed out the entrance hall and jogged towards the shore until she could see a tall figure silhouetted against the barely risen moon.

She slowed to a walk and closed the last of the distance between them. When she finally reached his side, she glanced over to see that he stared unblinkingly ahead. Silent tears streamed over his nose, down his cheeks and onto his neck, unchecked. Hermione didn't speak or move to touch him. Instead, she stuffed her hands in her pockets and looked in the direction he was, over the expanse of the lake.

After a long stretch of silence, Ron spoke. His voice was thick with tears and husky with disuse. "I'm not the best company at the moment. You don't have to stay."

She looked at his face, looked for the sincerity that would tell her that he genuinely would rather be alone. All she found, however, was a desperation begging her to call him on his bluff.

"I'm not going anywhere."

He turned fully to face her. For a moment she thought he was going to insist that she should go, that she should let him be miserable on his own. Instead, he placed a large hand lightly on either side of her face and kissed her. He held her mouth against his for one long, sweet moment. She could taste the salty tears on his lips. When he pulled back, he smiled.

"I'm sorry. Didn't mean to pull a Cho Chang."

Hermione laughed out loud. "Honestly, you'd think a bit of kissing would cheer you up."

Ron's arms slid around her waist and he pulled her against his chest.

"It definitely did."

This time, he kissed her hard and her mouth opened beneath his. She ran her hands through his hair and his hands moved across her back, into her hair, onto her neck – he squeezed her so tightly that she was lifted off the ground, and then she was on her feet again and he was backing her towards a tree.

"Umph!"

Ron fell forward, but somehow managed to fall so that he landed beneath her. They hit the ground with a heavy thud.

Both laid in stunned silence for a moment, and then Hermione began to laugh.

Ron's chest still rose and fell rapidly from the startle of their fall.

"I tripped on something – a root maybe? Sorry …"

She could see that he was blushing, and that just made the situation all the more humorous. She collapsed on top of him a fit of laughter. With effort, she finally rolled off of him and onto her back, where they laughed together for a while longer.

After they'd regained control, Ron propped himself up on his arm and stared down at her with a look in his face she hoped she could see every day for a very long time.

"Well that was a convenient repositioning," she said, and her voice was a little too high.

Ron smiled and leaned down _so slowly_ until his mouth hovered centimeters above hers. Impatient, she pushed herself up on her elbows and closed the distance.

He kissed her softly at first, until she wrapped her arms around his back and pulled him further on top of her. His hands sunk into the damp grass on either side of her head, and everything felt perfectly right. Every cell in her body seemed to drink in the sensation of his lips on hers, his body pressed against hers.

Ron pulled away enough to stare at her for a moment between kisses. She stared back and thought of the miracle it was that he was alive and she was alive and the war was over. It was so miraculous that she had to voice it, even if it was just in the smallest whisper.

"I'm really glad we're here, Ron."

He nodded, and kissed her again.

Kissing Ron the second time was similar to the first – she felt the same tingling, the same butterflies and the same warmth filling her. However, the first time, Harry was there to interrupt before it could go too far. The first time, the pressure of all they still needed to do remained a nagging thought in the back of her mind. Now, the war was over and Harry might as well have been days away for all the threat of interruption he presented.

_How does anyone ever stop snogging?_

It didn't matter, really. The last thing she wanted to do was stop.

It was a long time before they slowed at all. However, eventually the kisses slowed and became sweet and soft again. They ended up lying side by side, staring up at the wide expanse of stars. The air was a bit chilly, so Hermione cast a heating charm over both of them. Ron waved his wand and conjured two pillows.

"I didn't know it was possible to be so miserable and so happy all at once."

Hermione sighed and nodded her agreement. "It is a very conflicting state to be in."

He played with her fingers. "I just snogged Hermione Granger."

She blushed. "I just snogged Ron Weasley."

Both of them giggled like children.

"I've wanted to do that for so long."

"So have I."

Ron shook his head in apparent exasperation.

"What? What is it?"

"How did it take us so bloody long?"

"We were a bit concerned with the war on all sides."

"Maybe you were focused. I was just being a wuss."

Hermione laughed. "It does strike me as odd that as recently as half a day ago, the subject of kissing was still entirely off limits. Even if I thought you were going to kiss me a thousand times in the last year."

"Really? Like when?"

"Erm … well, for one, that day at the Burrow."

"With the presents?"

She smiled. "Yes. The very same."

"I _was_ going to kiss you then. But Ginny toppled the boxes."

"I thought so … but then you still never did."

"Guess I was distracted by the war or something."

"Oh come off it!" She swatted his arm and he dodged it, chuckling.

They settled back into their pillows. Ron's fingers traced the inside of her wrist and palm. It would have been a perfect moment except for the circumstances of the day – the tragedy and the loss. Even still, there was nothing quite like staring at the stars and holding hands with Ron for making her believe that eventually things would be better.

The silence stretched on, and she wondered if Ron might have fallen asleep. Then he shifted to look at her face.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?"

"Did you really kiss Krum?"

Her eyes widened and she sat bolt upright. "_What_? Where in Merlin's name did that come from?"

"I dunno, Gin mentioned something."

"_Ginny_? When? Why?"

"Erm … well, remember that time in sixth year that I was a big git?"

"Yes."

"Me and Harry walked in on Ginny and Dean one time, and I was a little upset. So I … I confronted her a bit, and she mentioned that you'd kissed Krum."

"Just like that? Don't boss me around, Ron, and by the way, Hermione kissed Viktor?"

Ron laughed, but she shot him a look that quickly shut him up.

"No – I mean, she sort of threw in my face that I was just upset because everyone had gotten snogged except me. Harry and Cho, her and Dean … and you and Krum."

Hermione huffed a sigh. "I'll kill her."

"So it's true. You snogged Krum?"  
>"Honestly, Ron, why does it matter?"<p>

"So you did, then?"

"Yes. I kissed Viktor. So what? It wasn't anything like you and _Lav lav._"

Ron groaned and flopped back to the ground. "I was asking for that."

"Yes. You were."

"You kissed an international Quidditch star."

Hermione smiled a little. "Yes. I did."

"Blimey. I really hate him."

She propped herself onto her elbow and grinned down at him. "Oh, come off it. If he'd asked you to the ball, I've no doubt you would have snogged him as well."

Ron made a face as if to say that she had a point, and she punched his arm.

"I don't plan on snogging him anymore."

He pulled her down so that her head rested on his chest. "Good. So you won't mind if I go after him, then?"

"No – not at all. He's yours."

He kissed the top of her head.

"Good."

"And I can have Lavender?"

Ron snorted. "No, Merlin, no. You don't deserve that."

"Lavender is a perfectly lovely girl!"

"Yes. As long as you keep enough space between you."

"Oh, naturally, because you and Lavender were the epitome of a couple with enough _space_ between you."

Ron's face was flaming red. "Oh, sod off. I only ever did it because I was a prat and wanted to make you jealous."

"What a foolish plan."

"Tell that to Cormac McLaggen."

"No need to be cruel!"

Ron sniggered, and she laughed lightly along with him.

Silence stretched between them again, and she was fine with that. They were good at silence. Her eyelids still felt heavy – even after the hours she'd slept – and she didn't fight the urge as they fluttered shut.

"Hermione?"

She sighed. "If I say, 'yes?' will you ask me another ridiculous question about Viktor Krum?"

"Erm … no."

"Good. Then, yes?"

He paused for a moment. "I love you."

Hermione felt as though she'd been punched. But punched by something warm and fluttery and wonderful. She couldn't make her mouth move until, a moment later, she heard Ron gulp and realized that he was not taking her silence as a good sign.

"I love you too – of course I love you."

He exhaled a laugh, and pinned her against his chest in a tight hug. "Blimey woman, you'll do me in."

She kissed his cheek. "I hope not."

He held her under the stars for a long time. They slept on and off. Kissed some. And when the sun finally peeked over the hills, Hermione felt like she might just be ready to face the next day.


	48. Prefect Patrols

**AN: From my second favorite book in the series, here is the last flashback of this story from fifth year. It takes place near the beginning of September, 1995. **

**Love you all! Sorry for the long wait, and please review **

Ron groaned as he scanned his list of prefect patrol shifts to see that he was on duty for the late-night shift. He was relieved when he noticed that Hermione was the other prefect on duty – it was nearly unbearable when he had to patrol with sixth or seventh year prefects without a word to say to any of them.

Then again, lately Hermione had been more uptight than usual. She was always lecturing he and Harry – this is the most important year, what you do now will determine everything for your future, house elves need our help, Harry you really should talk to Dumbledore, Ron stop procrastinating and haven't you started those essays yet – if that was how it would be tonight, it might be enough for him to fake some sudden ailment to get out of patrols.

He didn't know why the constant nagging got to him so much this year. She was always prone to dishing out advice whether wanted or not. He wanted to brush it off as simple annoyance, but it was something more. It actually bothered him that he kept disappointing her. He had some strange desire to impress her. So far this year, he had done anything but.

Of course, these last two weeks had been bad because he'd set aside so much of his free time for Quidditch practice. And it had paid off, hadn't it? He was keeper now … even if he was rubbish.

Mind you, she'd seemed pleased when she'd gotten that news. Ron thought about bursting through the entrance hole, what seemed like the whole of Gryffindor on his tail. Hermione had been sitting by the fire pouring over an arithmancy text book when she glanced up and saw him. Her eyebrows rose.

"What are you smiling abo – wait, weren't you just at tryouts?"

Ron grinned and nodded, and she jumped to her feet.

"Wait … Ron – you're on the team? I'm so pleased!"

She threw her arms around him, and Ron held her tightly against his chest. "Thanks, Hermione."

She pulled back, but not away and beamed up at his face. "Of course! So you're keeper now, right?"

"Yeah – now that Oliver's gone."

"Butterbeers over here!" someone shouted, and the crowd grouped around them. Neither Ron nor Hermione moved at all. He didn't know what was happening – they were still holding onto each other and he had no idea how to pull away, or if he even wanted to.

Just then, Fred and George made kissing noises, and they blushed and released each other.

"Shove off!" Ron growled, and they moved away, sniggering.

"I'll just move what I was studying, then, and come back down for the party."

By the time she was back in the common room, he was waiting with a butterbeer. They stood sipping and laughing for a while before someone else grabbed Ron to congratulate him. When he turned around, Hermione had disappeared. After that, there were so many congratulations and hands passing him around that he didn't have a chance to look for her again. He wanted to be with her more than anyone, though, so he kept searching over heads for her.

Later, when he saw that she'd fallen asleep, he couldn't hide his disappointment. He was hoping that he would get a chance again that night to talk to her. Instead, she went to bed quickly after Harry.

Ron shook his head, unsure of why he kept reliving that night. He still didn't know what had happened when they hugged, but it was too strange and uncomfortable for him to bring up. He sighed and stood wearily from his lonely table in the library and collected the piles of parchment spread across it.

He thought wryly about how out of character it was for him to study at all, let alone to study alone in the library. Then again, he'd never gotten this much homework before. Until this year, he didn't know this much homework was possible.

He arrived back at the common room a few minutes before their shift started. Harry was off in detention (Ron's blood boiled at the thought of what Umbridge made him do), but Hermione was asleep in an armchair near the fire. A pair of knitting needles clicked cheerfully as it knitted an unidentifiable mass of yarn.

He tapped her softly on the shoulder. She nearly jumped out of the seat and jerked awake with a gasp.

"Blimey! Sorry, Hermione."

Her eyes were wild and still a little foggy with sleep. He noticed a small spot of drool on her chin and nodded to it. "You've got a little…"

She blushed, embarrassed, and swiped it away.

"You all right?"

She still didn't speak a word, but she nodded confirmation. Ron was unsurprised – Hermione woke up earlier than he did as a general rule, but she also had a very difficult time adjusting to consciousness.

"Ready for patrols?"

She nodded again, and he found himself unable to suppress a fond smile. "Need some help up?" he continued in a voice he might use with a child.

Her eyelids drooped a little, but she yawned and nodded.

"Ok. Take my hand."

She lifted her arm weakly, and he grabbed hold. "All right, let's go." He heaved her into a standing position, and she moaned a little in protest.

"Hermione, we're late for our shift."

This seemed to jog something, because her eyes grew clearer and she managed to stand up straight. "Right. Of course." Immediately she was out the portrait hole, leading the way. Ron chuckled and followed her. Once in the hallway, Hermione marched forward with purpose. Ron, shaking his head in amusement, caught up to her and grabbed her arm.

"You're going the wrong way – we're supposed to be patrolling the north halls."  
>She sighed. "Right. Merlin. I am exhausted."<p>

Her shoulder pressed against his and he could tell that it was only with effort that she remained upright.

"Now … don't get angry, here, but maybe you should spend less time knitting if you're this tired."

She looked aghast at the thought. "And let hundreds of house elves remain in captivity?"

Ron opened his mouth to say something about how, if they wanted to be free, Dumbledore would free them, but he took one look at her face and swallowed his words.

"Erm …. Right."

They fell into comfortable silence. Ron was left to think about even less pleasant things than house elves freed against their will – such things as his git of a brother, Percy's letter and how much he loathed Dolores Umbridge.

"I'm of half a mind to storm her office and demand that she let Harry go."

Hermione looked at him, surprised. "Umbridge?"

"Well yes, of course! I hate the old hag! And Harry's just going to come back with that bloody hand and next time she says something awful in class he's not going to be able control himself because Harry's been going off at everyone else and what's to stop him from going off at her? And then she'll kick him off the Quidditch team. Or expel him. Or keep on the way she has, with the twisted lines!"

He paused to breathe and caught sight of Hermione, who had an odd smile on her face.

"What? Why are you smiling?"

Hermione flushed and shook her head. "Oh, nothing."

Ron shrugged. "All right. Picturing offing her, I expect. That'd make me smile."

Hermione seemed, finally, to remember that they were Hogwarts prefects on duty.

"We really shouldn't say such things about a professor."

"Yeah. And the new 'Hogwarts High Inquisitor.' Honestly, it's mental."

They heard muffled voices around the next corner, so both of them fell silent and moved forward to inspect.

"I reckon Potter's raving, but he doesn't seem altogether dangerous."

"I dunno. Did you hear about his outburst in Umbridge's class?

"True … although she's as rotten as they come."

"Definitely. But you'd think he'd keep his mouth shut."

"Yeah. He must have anger issues of some sort."

"But why would he make it up?"

"Attention, I expect. He always seems to be looking for it."

Ron and Hermione stood frozen, seething. He glanced at her and they shared a nod. In the next moment, both stepped into view of the two students. Ron recognized one of them as a Ravenclaw sixth year boy, but did not know the other.

"And just what do you think you are doing?" Hermione snapped, holding herself to her full height.

The first, much taller than she was, looked unimpressed.

"Oh, look. If it isn't Potter's fan club."

"Yeah, that's right, pal!" Ron growled, "And we're also prefects."

"Ohh, what? Are you going to give me detention for insulting Potter?"

The other one laughed derisively and added, "They're probably just as scared of him as the rest of the school."

"No – we're not going to give you detentions for insulting our friend," Hermione replied levelly, but Ron could see danger in her eyes. "But we are going to take ten points from Ravenclaw for being out of bed passed curfew. Ten for spreading lies around the school…"

"And ten for insulting the new Hogwarts High Inquisitor," Ron finished, smirking.

Both boys shouted their outrage, and the one on the left made as if to raise his wand.

"Don't you dare." Ron raised his own and pointed it at the boy's chest before it was even out of his pocket. "I will hex you so fast."

"We're not scared of some stupid Gryffindor fifth years!" Both of them rushed to extract their wands now. However, with a bang, both of their wands suddenly flew from their hands and into Hermione's outstretched ones.

"Haven't you heard? We run with dangerous crowds like Harry Potter," she said. "We're quick."

Like the duffer he was, one of the boys lunged forward as though to attack her, unarmed. "Petrificus totalus!" Ron shouted, and the boy fell stiffly to the ground. Furious, now, Ron rounded on the other.

"I hope you're smarter than your friend."

The boy, though fuming, said nothing.

"I'll take that as a yes. Hermione, here, will give you your wands. And then you'll get the _hell_ out of here while we perform the counter curse on your _'little mate.' _You can meet back up in the Ravenclaw common room, exactly where you're supposed to be."

Hermione sent the wands flying back towards the boy, and he caught them in the tips of his fingers. Furiously, he stomped away. Hermione muttered the counter curse and the other one stood shakily and ran after him.

"What pricks!"

Hermione didn't move or say a word. Ron glanced down at her, worried.

"Hermione?"

"We totally lost our tempers, Ron! Oh, Merlin. We completely abused our power."

"Hermione! That jerk tried to attack you."

"He was unarmed."

"Yeah, and clearly daft, but he still tried to come after you."

"Well, I had his wand!"

Ron smacked his head with the palm of his hand. "Blimey, Hermione, you have more of a conscience than anyone I know. Besides, were we supposed to let them say whatever they wanted about Harry?"

Hermione sighed. "Technically? Yes."

"But would we ever?"

She was silent, and he couldn't help but grin. "Aw, come on, Hermione. They could have done with some knocks. I say we let them off easy."

"I did rather enjoy the look on that big one's face."

He chuckled. "Shamed by a fifth year girl half his size. Guess he's never met a fifth year girl like Hermione Granger before."

She flushed, pleased.

"It was still wrong."

"It was great, Hermione. And a bit fun, to be honest."

She looked scandalized.

He laughed.

"Let's keep looking, then. Hopefully the rest of the night won't be so adventurous."

It was a fairly usual patrol otherwise – one couple they could hear in a broom cupboard made both of them blush. Hermione, the more composed of the two, yelled a five minute warning through the door and told them to be gone by the time they came back around to check again.

Ron's face was still flaming several corridors away, and neither of them said a word to each other.

"Oh, Argus, hold on the whipping order for now. I don't want to play all my cards just yet."

There was no mistaking the simpering voice. Ron and Hermione looked at each other, panic stricken.

"Yes, ma'am … that quill seems to be effective."

"Yes," her voice grew an added measure of delight, and she sounded quite manic as she continued, "One student is in my office right now writing lines."

If Filch and Umbridge rounded the corner right now, it would be blatantly obvious that Ron and Hermione had heard every word of their conversation. Worse, it would be clear that they hadn't made the slightest effort to move away. And Umbridge knew full well that they were Harry's best friends.

He grabbed hold of Hermione's arm and, with moments to spare, pulled them both behind a cluster of suits of armor. He watched anxiously as Dolores Umbridge came into view, chatting quietly with Filch.

Hermione inhaled, and Ron froze. He hadn't realized how closely she was standing behind him until she breathed in – now he could feel her against him and was all too aware of it. She grabbed his shoulders and stood on tip toes to see over them, which only made his awkward new predicament worse. His breath hitched in his throat and he felt his face getting warm and his palms begin to sweat. Meanwhile, she was completely oblivious to the way her soft curves pressed agonizingly into his back and what it did to him.

"Yes, I'm headed back to my office right now."

_Yes. Please leave. _

Their voices dropped to hushed whispers, and Hermione leaned closer to hear them. He gulped. He desperately wished they would leave so that he could move. At the same time, a small, strong portion of his brain hoped that it would last a little longer.

Finally, Umbridge and Filch's footsteps faded away. Ron rushed immediately to get out from the cramped space, but Hermione held him there for a moment.

"Wait … just to be sure…"

When she was satisfied the coast was truly clear, he stumbled back into the hall with relief and disappointment. His face was still decidedly hot and he felt a surge of gratitude for his robes and the way they billowed loosely enough to conceal anything that might serve to mortify him further.

"What a despicable old woman! She'll never get away with that!"

Ron frowned. "With what?"

"The way she was talking about punishing Fred and George!"

He wasn't about to admit that, due to her closeness, he had been too distracted to hear anything Umbridge'd said, so he just nodded and gave a perfunctory, "Oh, yeah."

"Are you all right, Ron? You look a bit ill."

He nodded. "O'course, yeah. I'm just angry is all."

"Me too! What an evil toad!"

He looked down at her, eyes alight with righteous indignation, and felt his face heat up again. He couldn't help but notice how pretty she was when she was angry, and it was a nice change that the subject of her anger wasn't him.

They continued down the hall, abusing Umbridge as they walked back to the broom cupboard to do a second check.

"You know, I really can't stand the thought of failing one O.W.L. because for one stupid year, our teacher is completely incompetent."

"You won't fail, Hermione. If it's necessary, I'm sure you'll teach yourself."

"I don't know enough either! I know you and Harry think I'm some genius –"

"You _are_ –"

"No, Ron – I know you and Harry _think_ I am, but without a proper professor, I'm not sure if I'll do well at all. Not to mention, there are more important things than exams."

Ron raised his eyebrows.

"No, don't look at me like that, of course there are! You-know-who is back and we need to know how to fight."

"I reckon you're right, but what can we do?"

"I don't know. But I'll think of something."

"'Course you will." He nudged her lightly.

Hermione smiled back, but seemed concerned.

"What's the matter?"

She sighed. "It's nothing, really. I just worry sometimes. Do you think that I act as if grades and doing well at everything are all that matter to me?"

Ron could tell he wanted a specific answer, and he hated that feeling. "Erm … no?"

Clearly it had been the wrong thing. "You don't need to lie! Oh, I knew it!"

"What? Hermione, I'm not lying. I just wasn't sure what to say. You don't seem like that at all."

"No? Then what do I seem like?"

"Well, I mean, you care about S.P.E.W. And your friends – you're always helping us, like the other day with Sinistra's essay – I never would have finished it without you. And I got pretty decent marks, too. Harry and I would never survive on our own."

"Well, I'm not going anywhere."

He grinned. "I hope not." Then he blushed – what was he saying?\

There was another stretch of silence.

"I feel like a bossy little know-it-all."

Ron would be lying if he said he'd never thought she acted like that, but it was only ever for a moment before he guiltily pushed it from his head.

"No – Hermione, don't be ridiculous."

"I am! I know I nag you both and I know it bothers you."

"Maybe we get annoyed sometimes, but only because we know you're right. Not to mention, we get annoyed at each other too."

She looked skeptical.

"It's true. Why are you worrying about this all of a sudden?"

She chewed on her bottom lip guiltily.

"What? What brought it all on?"

"I just … I'm worried that I'm turning out to be … and … no, it's terribly insensitive … I just…"

"Hermione. You are _not_ Percy."

"Wasn't he just like I am in school, though?"

"Oh, come off it! First of all, you're fantastic to be around and he was barely tolerable, even in school. Second of all, he was always selfish – his grades, his reputation, his stupid Ministry job. You always put other things first. Like in third year, when you were studying more than anyone in the school and taking so many classes and you spent so much time helping Buckbeak on your own."

She smiled. "Maybe but –"

"No 'but's. Percy is an insufferable, selfish, obnoxious prat. You've never been anything like him, except that you're good in your classes. And even then, you're much better than he was."

Hermione flushed. "Thank you, Ron," she said in a small voice.

He paused, wondering if he'd ever said so many nice things about her at once before. He was humiliated – she could probably see right through him. She would probably guess that he fancied her – if fancying was the right word …

Yes. There was no other explanation.

Blimey. He _fancied_ Hermione.

"Erm … yeah, you're welcome. You know what, I reckon I am feeling a bit ill. Do you think anyone would mind if we went to bed a half hour early?"

"Oh no! Maybe you should go to the hospital wing."

The hospital wing wouldn't help anything, he knew, so he shook his head. "No, I'm sure I'm just … erm … tired."

She nodded and patted his arm. He resisted the urge to shrink away, as though her touching him might somehow give everything away.

"All right then. Let's head back. If you're sure."

He nodded.

They walked back in silence. To Ron, it seemed loaded with something strange and new. He was careful not to walk too close to her, or look at her, afraid that she would notice it too. Unless he wanted her to notice. He couldn't decide.

"Thanks for saying all those nice things, Ron."

He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye, and then hurriedly looked back to the floor.

"Oh. It's no problem."

And he really hoped it wasn't.


	49. To Fred

**AN: Hello all Can you believe this is chapter 49? That means that next chapter – NEXT CHAPTER is the end. I could not have asked for better readers. Thank you to the ones who've stuck it through for the long haul and for those who are new. I appreciate you all. Please review!**

**AN^2: Sorry for the confusion for those of you that thought I posted it, had it disappear and are now getting another notification. My computer freaked out and I had to delete, reupload and repost this chapter. Enjoy! **

Hermione bustled around the kitchen making tea. It was a small gesture, but she didn't know what else to do. The silence at the Burrow was almost a tangible thing, and terribly out of place. She had never once known this house to be quiet, especially considering the eleven people currently congregated there.

But tomorrow was the funeral, and none of them had anything to say.

She set the kettle down to boil, and then spun around, unsure of what to do next.

A hand slid into hers.

"Help me de-gnome the garden?"

Hermione looked up at Ron who, not for the first time, seemed to have read her mind. He'd whispered, she knew, because it was too risky to raise their voices. Disturbing the peace seemed dangerous somehow. Gratefully, she followed him through the front room (past Ginny and Harry who held hands on the sofa, and Percy, who stared stonily ahead) and outside.

The moment the door closed behind them, Hermione inhaled deeply. Something about the tragedy of it all gave her the distinct impression that all the walls were slowly closing in on her.

"Mum's only gotten worse."

Hermione looked at Ron and sighed. She knew he was right. "I know. Who can blame her?"

Ron looked pained. She squeezed his hand.

"I know. It's just … it's so odd to see her like this."

Hermione knew what he meant. Molly Weasley was the strongest woman she knew. For the two days immediately after the battle at Hogwarts, she seemed to have everything under control. She made funeral arrangements, helped clean up the castle and held the family together. However, sometime in the last twenty four hours she seemed to have lost all strength and will to keep it up. So, rather than finishing the preparations, she retired to her room and had not been seen since.

Overgrown foliage dominated the gardens. Flowers, once so lovingly tended, were now choked by weeds. The grass stood half way up Hermione's calf, and gnomes hopped from plant to plant without reservation.

While once Mrs. Weasley's harried, panicked event planning had been stressful and excessive, her total indifference was much worse.

It was a daunting task, but Hermione knew it had to be done by someone. They worked all morning. They threw gnomes out, weeded, watered plants and trees and trimmed and pruned. Hermione found some flower seeds in one of Molly's cupboards and charmed them to respond rapidly to sun and water. They came up as white tulips.

She glanced over at Ron who had a pair of shears and was clipping off dead branches from a large tree. On closer look, the dirt on his face was broken up by tear tracks. Hermione tucked her wand into her robes and then stepped over the newly planted garden to where he stood. No longer shy about reaching out, she slid her arms around his waist in a tight embrace. Ron dropped the shears to the side and wrapped his arms around her. He buried his face in her hair.

"We shouldn't be fixing up our house for a funeral," he said, and his voice broke. "For _his_ funeral."

She didn't say anything. There were no words to say. Instead she held him closer and rubbed his back in small, slow circles.

They stood like that, swaying slightly, for a long time. Long enough that eventually they heard the front door open and they pulled away to see Ginny and Harry emerge.

"We thought you could use some help," Harry said, his arm around Ginny. Ginny looked between the two of them and managed a wry smile that was only a hollow echo of what it once was.

Hermione surveyed the yard and was pleased to see how much better it looked. "I think it's covered out here. Maybe we should start on the inside?"

They filed into the stifling home again, and Hermione almost wished she hadn't suggested going back in. Back to the suffocating silence.

Ron and Hermione began in the kitchen while Harry and Ginny went to scour the stairs and banister.

"It's still weird seeing them together."

Hermione laughed drily. "Still? They first got together more than a year ago."

"I know. And I never got used to it."

She smiled, because this Ron was the old Ron that fretted over homework and Quidditch and his best mate snogging his sister. She missed this Ron.

"What? What are you smiling about?"

Rather than trying to make sense of her thoughts, she bobbed up on her feet and caught his lips with hers. Ron responded immediately and eagerly. He wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace that she had grown fiercely fond of.

She felt the familiar surge of heat rushing through her. They'd kissed plenty in the past few days, but the thrill of it hadn't lessened in the slightest. Rather it was harder to stop, harder to breathe, harder to think. She pressed herself against him and felt him moan deep in his chest. She thought of the other nine people in the house and the pervading silence that was upon it. And here she and Ron were, snogging ten feet from everyone else. With a great burst of will power, she pulled away. Ron immediately stepped back.

"Sorry," he said, breathing hard.

She laughed. "Sorry? Was I complaining?"

He smirked. "No, I guess not."

"It's just that … maybe the kitchen isn't the best place for …." She waved a hand in the air, trying to convey some sort of meaning. He smiled and nodded, so that she knew he understood exactly what she meant.

"Right. Then let's finish up here …" he trailed off suggestively.

"And find somewhere better?"

He grinned. "Your words, not mine."

She scooped up a pile of dishes and walked over to join him at the sink.

Hermione was constantly amazed at how easily they'd fallen into being a couple. It felt similar to how it had been before, only … more charged. And better. However, whatever happiness came from this newfound aspect of their relationship, it was coupled with shame. How could they flirt and snog and sneak around in the midst of so many deaths and funeral plans?

Between her, Ron, Harry and Ginny, the house was mostly presentable by the late afternoon. At least, anywhere the guests might go was. By then, they were exhausted, both emotionally and physically. Molly and Arthur still hadn't surfaced from their room. Percy's loud weeping could be heard throughout the house. Bill, Fleur, and Charlie had apparated to Shell Cottage mid-morning to work on the food. George and Lee Jordan, who had stayed at the Burrow since the battle, were holed up in the twins' bedroom making very little noise.

They rest of the day passed in a blur. Ginny made stew for dinner and took some up to her parents. Ron and Hermione took two bowls to Fred and George's room.

"Lee? George? We have some dinner."

There was no answer.

Hermione knocked loudly. "Hello?"

They waited another moment and then Ron pushed the door open. The room was empty.

"Bloody hell," Ron muttered.

"What? Where do you think they've gone?"

Ron shrugged, but she could tell he suspected something.

"Ron?"

"I reckon they've gone and found a pub."

"You think they've gone off to _drink_? The day before the funeral?"

"I don't think George knows how else to handle it."

Hermione nodded. She understood, at least, the desire to be past feeling.

By ten, Ron, Hermione, Harry, Ginny and Percy were all ready for bed. Just as they were about to ascend the stairs, they heard the door to Molly and Arthur's bedroom open. All of them watched warily as Molly came towards them.

"The house looks wonderful," she smiled, appraising everything with a turn of her head. "Do we need to work on the yard?"

They shook their heads. "It's finished, mum. Everything's ready." Molly stepped forward and placed a hand on Ron's cheek.

"Thanks, sweetheart. I'd better start cooking."

"Charlie, Bill and Fleur are taking care of it at Shell Cottage. They found your menu and the food."

Molly's expression was hard to read – some cross between gratitude, relief and shame. "Oh, they shouldn't have –"

"No one minded, mum," Ginny assured her.

"Thank you, dear," Molly said, which was followed by a weighty pause.

"I think we're all going to turn in," Harry finally told her.

"Of course," she nodded, and they filed past her. Hermione heard her tell Arthur that she wanted to take a walk in the garden.

When the five of them reached the first landing, Ginny and Hermione said quiet goodnights to Ron and Harry. They didn't touch at all, since Percy was right there. Instead, they made their way to Ginny's bedroom, changed into pajamas, brushed their teeth and sat together on Ginny's bed.

"D'you think Ron and Harry are done changing?"

Hermione nodded. Then, she pointed her wand at the door. "Muffliato." Ginny grabbed her hand and they apparated directly into Ron's bedroom.

"Argh!"

The shout of surprise came from Ron, who sat on the bed. The room was dark, but they could make out Harry's shape lying in a cot on the left.

Ron flicked open the deluminator, so that three balls of light hovered above them.

"Good evening, blokes," Ginny smirked, and stepped over to Harry's cot. He sat up and made room for her to sit next to him. Hermione sat on Ron's bed with him.

"We didn't say a proper goodnight," Ginny whispered, and gave Harry a quick kiss. Hermione smiled to see Ron's angry blush in response. She moved until she was next to him against the headboard and then leaned her head onto his chest. He shifted so that his arms were around her waist, and she placed one of her hands on his chest.

The four of them sat in silence for awhile, only disrupted by the occasional clamor of noise from the ghoul in the attic.

"Remember when the twins told you that all that noise was a giant spider?" Ginny's voice broke the spell.

"Yeah … that was horrible. I was miserable for a week."

"So were they, once mum was through with them."

They all laughed.

"They tried to trick me into believing that mum bought me a Nimbus one time."

Ron gaped. "Did you believe it?"

Ginny scoffed. "Of course not. I never would have. They chickened out at the last minute."

"Why?"

"Because I was their baby sister, I expect. They're soft under all of their pretenses."

Ron snorted at this. "Soft? They never seemed to have any qualms tormenting their baby brother."

"Or their baby brother's best mate," Harry quipped. "I'll never forget the day they told me how often people were maimed and killed on the Quidditch pitch." The other three of them chuckled.

"They knew you'd be fine. You weren't really going to die."

Everyone fell very silent, and this time it was distinctly awkward. The mention of the twins and death in the same sentence was far too close to home.

"I think I'm going to turn in," Ginny whispered after a long moment.

Hermione made to stand up, but Ron's arms held her in place.

"Wait," he said softly, so she did.

"All right then … erm … good night," Harry said, standing up to give Ginny a hug.

They all knew that Harry wanted to go back with Ginny to her room. Hermione wanted the same thing – lying in Ron's arms was unbelievably comforting, but she couldn't leave Ginny alone in her room. Not to mention, she would feel too awkward with Harry only four feet from them. However, they knew that the chances of Ron allowing that to happen without a fight were slim.

Ron, after a lengthy pause, sighed in resignation. "Oh, it's fine Harry. Just … just…"

"Behave?" Ginny said wryly.

"Well yeah!"

"Only if you two do," she replied, and she and Harry disapparated with a pop.

"He better keep his hands off of her."

"Oh, I'm sure he will. What are the odds of anything happening – they're only going to be alone all night together. In her bedroom."

Ron bristled. "What am I doing? How could I have let this happen?" He made as if to get off the bed. Switching roles, Hermione held him down.

"Honestly, Ron, they need each other tonight."

The strange feeling returned – the one that accompanied any acknowledgement of Fred's funeral.

Ron shifted until he stared into her eyes. "I'm glad you stayed."

She placed a hand on either side of his face. "Me too."

He kissed her twice, softly. Then, he pulled her against his chest. Their arms were around each other and their legs overlapped.

"I miss him so much."

"I know." She squeezed tighter.

"Why the hell did it have to be Fred? I don't want to do this tomorrow. I don't want to be around people in black, talking about how much they knew him or loved him or were so sorry to hear that it was him."

She knew that, for now, Ron wasn't looking for her to speak, so she kept quiet and let him continue.

"I don't want people swarming our house and telling me that he was brave or that he's in a better place now. I can't take another person telling me he was a hero – yeah, of course he was a bloody hero! Everyone who fought was a hero, but there are a hundred effing people who are all effing heroes, who are all effing _alive_!"

He rolled away from her and into a sitting position. Hermione pushed herself onto her knees.

_"Why did it have to be Fred_?" His broken eyes searched hers for an answer but she didn't have any to give. "Why … why …" his voice cracked, and he buried his face in his hands. Great, heaving sobs shook his shoulders, and Hermione scrambled to wrap her arms around him. Every cry sounded painful, as though it tore from the deepest part of his chest. She held his tall, broad frame, curled pathetically in fetal position, and couldn't help her own tears from falling. His face was buried in her chest, and she pulled her fingers slowly through his hair.

Worried that someone might come to investigate, find them in bed together and make a scene, Hermione pointed her wand at the door and cast a silencing charm. Ron's tears were raw and loud and every one cut her like a knife. She thought of his question and asked it herself. _Why Fred_? Logically, she knew that everyone who fought had the same chance of dying. They fought with that risk in mind. And there were plenty of people there she loved – it was only expected that she would lose at least some of them. However, it didn't stop her from asking the same question again and again. Why Fred? Why him? Why someone who was so very … alive?

This time, Ron didn't cry for very long. Within minutes, his breath was dry and rattling, and the tears were gone. Hermione didn't move until Ron did. He shifted until they sat side by side. He found her hand and squeezed it. It took him a moment to speak.

"I'm sorry you're always here when I lose it."

His words were empty, and she didn't need to respond, because they both knew she wouldn't have it any other way. She just held onto his hand and sat with him.

After a minute, Ron turned his head and she turned hers and even in the dark, she knew their eyes met. His hand left hers and landed on her bare arm. She shivered and leaned in. His other hand played with the end of her long plait.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

Ron kissed her. Hermione's fingers held the front of his shirt loosely, and then to pull him closer, closer, until she lay beneath him. Their kisses grew more heated, and Hermione was extremely aware that the only thing between them was her thin camisole. One of Ron's hands stayed on her neck and face and one slid down her side and back up. She couldn't think a coherent thought to save her life. Ron kissed her neck, and her heart thumped madly against her rib cage. His mouth found hers again.

Something crashed, and Hermione jumped so hard she bit his lip.

"Oh! I'm sorry, Ron – what was that?"

He rubbed his mouth with a grimace and sat up. "Erm … I … oh, right. The ear."

"The ear?"

Ron rolled off the bed and ran to his doorway, where a thin, flesh colored string extended out of it and down the stairs.

"Why do you have an extendable ear?"

"To hear when George got home. And it sounds like he is."

There was another crash, as if to emphasize his point.

"I have to get him before mum hears," he sighed, and swung open the door. Hermione followed, quietly, as they crept down the four landings to the entry way. They couldn't immediately see George, but the ruckus he made in the kitchen was easily heard.

"I just need some soup, just a little soup," they heard him muttering.

Hermione stopped at the door of the kitchen and Ron proceeded cautiously in, until his hand was on George's shoulder.

"Ah!" George spun around, arms raised, and then lost his balance and started to fall.

Ron caught him with a grunt. "George. Where's Lee?"

"Lee?" George started to laugh, hoarse and manic. "Lee's gone."

"Gone where? Is he home?"

"Home … home … Angelina came, sent us home." George frowned. "She thought we had too much fun."

"Angelina knows what she's talking about."

George giggled.

"George."

"Wonny won."

Ron rolled his eyes. "Dammit, George, you're pissed out of your mind."

George stumbled towards the cupboard, and Ron held him still. "Soup."

Hermione entered the kitchen and summoned a soup can. She caught it in one hand and walked over to the stove to get it started.

"I'll make him soup, Ron. You get him onto the couch and see if he'll rest."

"Right. Thanks, Hermione. I'll send an owl to Angelina and see if she really did get Lee home."

"Good idea."

She bustled around in the kitchen, lost in thoughts. It was eerie and awful to see George so lost. She'd seen the twins tipsy before, but it only ever made their morals slightly looser and their tongues a little less sharp. He'd clearly been drinking for a long time.

"I need a firewhiskey!" she heard from the front room, and was glad to hear Ron's resulting "Muffliato."

It was hardly any time at all before the soup was ready, and she ladled it into a nearby bowl. She filled up a glass of water as well. She grabbed a spoon and then took it out to the sofa. George was in an upright position, his eyes wide and bloodshot.

"He's dead, Ron."

Ron sat next to him, clearly unsure of what to do.

"I know, George."

George turned and he looked like a child. "I want to be dead."

Ron's face mirrored Hermione's – horrified. "No, blimey, George, you don't want to be dead."

George burst into more maniacal laughter, and he thumped Ron on the back. "Ickle Ronniekins, so worried. I haven't even cried yet! I don't even care!"

"Of course you care."

"I don't care. Why haven't I cried because I DON'T CARE!"

"You don't have to cry to care, George."

"I haven't cried."

"I know. Hermione has your soup. Do you want soup?"

"Soup." He grinned dopily, and held his hands out.

Hermione walked over and placed the bowl in his outstretched palms. "I'll take care of the note to Angelina, Ron. You better stay here with him. See if he'll drink some water."

He nodded, and his shoulders slumped in exhaustion. She squeezed his hand.

"Ronnie's in love with Hemri … Hermy … Herimone …"

"Hermione," she corrected automatically.

"Hermione." He giggled again. "Won won loves Hermione."

She couldn't help but blush, and excused herself to find Pig. He was sleeping in Ron's room, and she rummaged around until she found a quill and parchment. Hastily, she scribbled, _Angelina, this is Hermione. George came home drunk and muttering that you got him home. Thank you, if he somehow managed to get that right, and I just wanted to make sure that he was also right in thinking you got Lee home? Sorry for the hour, Hermione._

At the last minute, she decided that Hermes would be a better choice. After everything that had happened, she doubted Percy would mind if she used him, so she tip toed into his room and, quietly as she could, got Hermes and tied the letter to his leg. She sent him off and hoped that Angelina would reply quickly.

Back downstairs, George snored loudly. Ron stood up and walked over to her with trepidation on his face. "He's going to be completely hung over for the service and mum is going to lose it."

"He'll be all right. I'm sure he's covered hang overs before."

"The twins are never this slaughtered. There's potion for this type of thing, but mum always said that if we were stupid enough to get drunk, we deserved to suffer the consequences, so she never had any around."

Hermione sighed. "Well let's hope a good night of sleep will do some good."

They stayed with George for a while longer. They both knew that eventually they would have to get him up to his bed, but the task seemed impossible at the moment, and so they just sat in silence. Both of them jumped when, after an hour or so, Hermes scratched at the window with a small parcel attached to his leg. Hermione ran to let him in. Ron stayed put, since George's legs were now splayed over his lap, and moving might disturb him.

She untied the package and small letter and sent Hermes to the kitchen where she'd left his cage.

"What is it?"

"I'm not sure."

She sat back down next to Ron and opened the note.

_Glad George made some sense after all. Yes, I found them drinking up a storm at the Hog's Head and sent both of them home. I'm sorry they're both in this condition for the funeral tomorrow, but I've sent your owl back with some potion that should help with the head ache and fatigue. See you tomorrow. –Angelina._

"Bless her," Ron said, and pulled the potion from its wrapper.

"We should get to bed, and so should he."

Ron nodded. "We better just wake him up and make him walk."

"I'm worried he'll leave his room in the night or wake up hung over and your mum will find him."

"Maybe he'd best stay in my room on the cot."

She nodded. "Will he mind if … I mean, if he finds us …"

"I hardly think he'll have any room to talk at that point."

George put up some resistance, but they all made it up to Ron's room eventually. Hermione and Ron collapsed into his bed, exhausted. Hermione curled against Ron's chest, he put his arms around her, and they were asleep in moments.

Morning came far too soon, but everyone, after panicked relocations to their proper rooms before Molly noticed that anything was amiss, somehow managed to arrive dressed and ready to the front yard.

Hermione and Ron stayed near George as the family made their way to the marquee in front of the orchard. A crowd was already gathered there. Lee walked over to them looking chagrined. He nodded at George. "Ange sent you some of the potion?"

George nodded, listless. "Yeah."

They walked away together. Hermione looked around and tears pricked her eyes. The old Quidditch team filed into seats together – Oliver, Katie, Alicia, Angelina. Katie and Alicia held each other and sobbed, while Angelina's tears were silent and steady. There was Zonko from Hogsmeade and Mundungus, sniffling and blowing his nose into a filthy handkerchief. He sat next to Hagrid who made no effort to conceal the volume of his tears. From behind a tree, suddenly, appeared Peeves. Silver tears trailed down his normally comedic face. He floated to the back and hovered quietly.

Hermione was overwhelmed by the number of people here, all dressed in their common black robes. She knew most of them from Hogwarts or the Order, or recognized them as Weasley cousins from the wedding, but there were quite a few strangers. She picked out Verity, a Weasley's Wizard Wheezes employee who wept freely into her hands. So many people one death affected. The Weasley family sat together in the first two rows. Hermione didn't have to count to know that there were three extra seats – she, Harry and Lee would all sit by the family.

They waited until the ministry official from Dumbledore's funeral and Bill and Fleur's wedding proceeded to the front, where he stood beside a large cluster of lilies. He directed his wand at it and, with a burst, the lilies separated and flew into all directions, to the hands of the guests until everyone clutched a flower. Behind the bush, the golden casket was now visible. It was closed, and a scarlet Gryffindor flag decorated the top.

At the sight of the casket, Ron squeezed Hermione's hand so tightly she nearly had to let go. The officiator opened his mouth and began to speak words that offered little comfort. He spoke of Fred's vivacity and life. He spoke of the joy he brought people and the laughter he left in his wake. Most of it went over Hermione's head. All she could think was that Fred's lifeless body lay cold and empty inside that box. Tears fell from her eyes and she shuddered. It was too horrible to think about.

He spoke for a long time, and when he was done, he invited the guests to walk with them to the cemetery behind the Burrow where Fred's body would be permanently laid to rest. Hermione looked around and was unsurprised to see not a dry eye among those in attendance.

Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, Ron, Harry and Lee stepped forward. Each of them directed their wands to a spot on the casket and raised it into the air with a group hover charm.

They walked silently to the cemetery. It was a strange feeling to see the crowd grouped around the gaping hole.

The men holding up the casket lowered it just enough that it rested on the harness in the mouth of the hole. One by one, the crowd laid a lily onto the casket. They went in a circle and, when it was Hermione's turn, she found she was at a loss for words. "Thank you Fred, for reminding me to have fun," she whispered, and placed her lily. Harry stepped forward next, and the tear tracks were evident on his face. "You're like a brother to me. You were always there when I needed someone to help me break the rules."

Lee went. He could barely get the words out, but he managed, "You were right, all along, you were right – you've always been the best prankster and things will never be the same without you. I wish this was a prank." His voice cracked and he stepped aside. Ron laid a flower down. "Fred … I – you always drove me mad with your mocking and taking the mick and now–" his voice broke "– now I'd give anything if you'd just come back and keep at it."

Hermione's tears came in little gasps now – she was barely maintaining control.

Ginny walked forward, the only one of the Weasley family not crying. Her stiff fingers unclenched, and her lily fell to his casket. "You shouldn't be gone," she whispered. "It shouldn't have been you." She moved away and fell, trembling, into Harry's arms.

Percy stepped forward. "You were the first to forgive me and then … Fred, I'm so sorry I couldn't protect you."

"I love you, little brother, and I'll never stop missing you," from Charlie. Bill and Fleur dropped their lilies together. "I'll miss you, Freddy. I love you." said Bill, and Fleur added, "Thank you for your constant kindness for me. It will not ever be forgotten."

Molly and Arthur came forward together as well, and the crowd seemed to inhale. Molly, quaking, knelt down and placed a gentle kiss on the casket. With Arthur's help, she stood back up.

"My darling baby," she whispered. "My heart…" she was silent for a long moment, unable to speak through her tears. "My heart broke when I saw you and knew …" another long pause. "But that's who you've always been, my brave boy. All smiles, smiles on you, smiles for everyone. I'm so proud of you. I've always been proud of you. I love you more than you understand, Freddy."

Arthur maintained slightly better control than his wife, but only just. "Fred, you once told me you wanted to die a hero." He choked on a sob. "Well, today we bury you too early and too young, but a hero nonetheless."

Sniffling in the crowd increased by the speaker until, all eyes fixed to him, George stepped forward. He held his lily limply in one hand and stood stock still by the grave. He didn't speak for a long time, and no one moved.

"Fred."

And then he broke. He collapsed to his knees, and sobbed into his hands. Through his tears, he pulled something from his pocket. It was Fred's wand, and he placed it gently on top of the casket. Then, he pulled from his pocket a small, multicolored square package that Hermione immediately recognized as one of their fireworks. He touched his wand to it. Immediately, fireworks erupted in a bright shower of red and gold. A griffin solidified, and then transformed into a phoenix which promptly burst into a million sparks that showered the guests in a sea of gold. Lee raised his wand and shouted, "To Fred!" and red sparks erupted from his wand. Within moments, the crowd chorused him, their wands raised, red sparks everywhere, and a hundred voices shouted in unison.

"To Fred!"


	50. Brighter

**AN: My dear, marvelous readers, we are here. I cannot express what your views and reviews and kindness and attention to detail have done for me as a writer and a person. A huge thanks to the faithful reviewers that have stuck with me for so long, to the guest reviewers who were willing to share their anonymous kindness and to those who are new in coming. You are so appreciated! I apologize for the length of this last chapter – I just couldn't stop writing! I hope your eyeballs don't fall out from exhaustion. **

**Please, please, with a cherry on top, LEAVE A COMMENT! If there is one thing I'd love from this very last chapter, it is to hear from you. I love you all! **

Ron opened his door to find Hermione midst a tall stack of books in the middle of his room.

"Business or pleasure?" he asked, and indicated the pile.

Hermione flushed. "It's nothing, honestly."

His brow creased. "What do you mean?" He stepped closer, but she blocked him.

"Nothing … I … It's just that I …"

He waited.

"You…?"

She sighed and moved aside, so he could see.

"Modifying memories: permanent or temporary … Everything you need to know about Memory Modification … Obliviate: A guide to memory loss, restoration and modification … books for your parents."

She nodded shyly. "Restoring memories seems much trickier than modifying or wiping them."

Ron walked over and took a place beside her. "Yeah? Why's that?"

"Well it seems backwards, but when I modified their memories, I could make up the details. If I wanted them safe in Australia, that's where they'd go. I made fake names, identities – all of it straight from my imagination. But if restored incorrectly, or incompletely … well, it's a matter of the real details of their lives being lost. What if they remember that they're dentists and that they really live in a small town in England but not that … that…"

"They have a daughter?"

"Yes! And what if I don't do it perfectly and they remember they have me, but also remember everything about their lives in Australia and prefer that life? What if they _liked_ being Monica and Wendell Wilkins, free of their magical daughter always getting into trouble?"

"_That_ is not going to happen."

"How do you know?"

Ron smirked and shifted closer – as close as he could over the pile of books – and grabbed her hand. "No one in their right mind would choose a life without Hermione. Especially not your mum and dad. I guarantee that even without their memories, Monica and Wendell Wilkins have felt something missing. They're your parents!"

"Yes, yes, they're my parents. But they're also in a beautiful beach town off of Sydney Australia, living a wonderful life with everything they could ever need! And that leads me to the hardest decision … do I wipe that part of their lives? Do I have them begin as though I had just been upstairs watching the telly –"

"The _what_?"

"– or do I let them keep all of those memories and run the risk that the new life is the one they'd prefer?"

"Hermione. Isn't that exactly what they did for you? Trusted in a new, unfamiliar life that they thought might make you happier than you would be otherwise? Saying goodbye and taking the chance that, given the opportunity, you might choose your new life entirely over your life with them because you like it better?"

Her bottom lip quivered. "Yes. Yes, I suppose it is quite similar."

"And doesn't it seem rather silly now? Of course you love magic but, I mean … they'll always be your parents, right?"

"Yes."

"I think you're ready, Hermione."

She looked at him, fear in her eyes.

"I'm not so sure."

"You are! You modified their memories perfectly almost a year ago! And you've gotten loads better since then."

"I miss them so much – I mean, since I started at Hogwarts, I've always written to my mum once a week. And summer holidays it was only ever me and them. And it's been so long and I'm terrified that I'll mess it up."

"You won't."

"Do you really think I'm ready?"

"Of course you're ready."

By the next evening, the bags were packed. Ron insisted on accompanying her to Australia and, for the sake of his parents' peace of mind, Harry travelled with them. Ron was mildly disappointed; some time alone with Hermione would have been nice. At the same time, it seemed wrong somehow to go on a journey without Harry. Not to mention, Molly needed her daughter's company at the moment more than ever, so Ginny stayed at the Burrow. Ron had to admit, the fact that Harry and Ginny would not be alone unsupervised for who knew how long provided him some comfort.

"Be safe," Molly said, and her eyes filled with tears.

"Mum! What's the matter? We'll only be gone a week at most!"

She shook her head. "I know … I'm being silly."

Ron leaned in and hugged her, something that was becoming increasingly normal as of late. "We'll be back soon."

"I know I just … you were gone for so long the last time, and oh, honestly, I'm silly, really."

Harry hugged her next, and then Hermione.

The three of them stepped back and linked arms. Ron felt a pang of nostalgia – how many times had the three of them stood just like this, ready to disapparate together, willing to trust whatever new location Hermione had planned for them?

She turned on the spot and, one stomach turn and unpleasant sensation later, their feet hit concrete.

"Where are we?"

Ron looked around. They were in a dark alley between two brick buildings.

"About twenty minutes from Sydney. It's called Bankstown … it seemed nice enough, and they have impressive dental offices."

She led them down two streets until they reached one called Boronia Road. "They live in a flat down this way."

Ron noticed that she trembled, so he took her hand. She shot him a smile, but he could see anxiety written all over her face.

"You're the smartest person I know," Harry said, and squeezed her arm. "You'll be fine."

"I hope so."

They stopped in front of a large apartment complex.

Ron read the sign. "Juniper Hills."

Hermione smiled. "I thought it was quaint."

They approached the front with trepidation. They made sure there were no muggles watching while Hermione pointed her wand and the door and murmured, "Alohamora." Inside, they made their way up the stairs. Hermione stopped at the third floor. "Their flat's just down this hall."

She hesitated for a long moment in front of number 113. "I think maybe you two ought to step back a bit. I don't want to scare them."

Ron squeezed her hand one last time, and he and Harry walked around the corner. As luck would have it, there was a mirror at the end of the hallway, so they could still see what was going on.

Hermione rapped her fist twice against the door. She waited only a moment before Mr. Granger poked his head out.

"Hello? Did we ring you up?"

"No … I … erm …"

Mrs. Granger's face suddenly appeared over his shoulder. Her eyes widened. "You!" she gasped.

Ron could only see her back, but he could tell that Hermione tensed up.

"Erm … pardon?"

"You're the one –" Hermione's mum turned to her husband. "She's the one! In my dreams!"

Ron wished he could rush forward and grab her elbow as Hermione teetered. "I've been in your dreams?"

Mrs. Granger looked on the verge of tears. "Yes, and I don't understand at all – what on earth are you doing here? Who _are_ you?"

Hermione's next words were thick with tears. "I'm Hermione. Your daughter."

In a motion almost too quick to catch, Hermione's wand sliced through the air as she muttered spells under her breath. Her parents froze, swayed for a moment, and then toppled to the floor.

Harry and Ron darted forward, even as Hermione spun around and held her hands up. "Don't worry – this is what's supposed to happen. Ideally, I've just placed all of our old memories back in their heads, and their brains are reconfiguring to allow the changes in what they remember."

Seconds later – though it felt like hours – Hermione's mum stirred.

"We don't mind that you're a witch, sweetie."

The three of them stared, riveted, as her mum continued, "We always knew you were special."

A moment later, her eyes opened, and then her dad's eyes as well. Both looked shaken, but they surveyed Ron and Harry would looks of vague recognition. Then, their eyes fell on their daughter.

"Hermione!"

"My baby!"

They jumped to their feet and the three of them fell into an embrace. Hermione and her mum cried, while her dad kissed her cheeks and hair.

"We didn't remember you!"

"What's going on?"

"Where have you been?"

"I was Monica Wilkins … _why_ was I Monica Wilkins?"

So Hermione let her parents keep _all_ of their memories. Ron smiled proudly.

"It's such a long story." Hermione laughed. "And I've missed you both so much!"

"I've missed you too, sweetheart! I didn't know why, but we never felt right. And you kept popping up in my dreams and telling me you had to keep us safe, and that you'd see us again someday!"

Hermione stared. "That's what I said just before I modified your memories!"

"_You_ did this?"

Hermione explained the situation, just as Harry's hand fell on Ron's arm. They exchanged a look, silently agreeing to step out and give the reunited family their privacy. However, just before they could, Hermione's dad seemed to register that they were in the room.

"Ron! Harry! Kept our girl safe, did you?"

Harry and Ron laughed out loud. The idea that _they_ had kept _Hermione_ safe was nothing short of ridiculous.

"No, sir. We'd be sorry blokes without her."

Hermione and her parents talked and held each other well into the night. When, hours later, Harry and Ron made it back to the flat, the Grangers were still swapping stories. Hermione was in the middle of a drastically watered down version of the events at Malfoy Manor, and none of them noticed when the two boys walked in.

"How did you make it out?" her mother whispered, tears in her eyes.

Hermione smiled sadly. "A heroic little house elf – you'll remember all about house elves, I've told you so much about them. He saved us. Dark wizards completely underestimated him, of course. Little Dobby. But I wouldn't have made it out alive without Ron."

Mrs. Granger's eyes lit up, and Ron blushed to see it.

"Ron? He saved you? Oh, Hermione, that's so heroic. When is he ever going to admit his feelings for you?"

Ron's face heated up, and Harry elbowed him teasingly in the ribs.

"Mum!"

"What? He's fancied you for years!"

This had gone on quite long enough. Ron stepped forward.

"Hermione, your mum's absolutely right. It's about time I told you I fancied you."

Mrs. Granger was clearly delighted. Hermione laughed.

"How wonderful. I hope you don't mind, but I'm seeing someone."

Harry rolled his eyes at the two of them.

_"What?"_

Hermione's parents surveyed her in total shock.

"But … surely … you've always fancied him."

She smiled and gestured to Ron. "Mum, dad, meet my boyfriend. Ron."

Now it was Ron's turn to gape. Hermione had never called him _that_ before. He didn't have long to process this, however, because Hermione's mum had already thrown her arms around him.

"Oh! How wonderful!"

_Yes_, Ron thought wryly, _it really is._

Now that the three of them were able to use magic, it took hardly any time at all to get the Grangers packed and ready to head back to England. They settled back into their normal routines quite easily. They insisted that Hermione stay with them for at least a few weeks, and she conceded easily. Ron knew she'd missed them desperately and was anxious to make up for lost time.

Harry apparated alone back to the Burrow to give Ron and Hermione their privacy. They sat in the front porch swing together, hands linked.

"If only we weren't going to be travelling, I'd tell you to visit."

"It's good that you get some time for just you three."

Hermione nodded, but she didn't look entirely convinced. "I know. And I _am_ happy. But it feels weird to run off and tour the world as though nothing is wrong. As though nothing has changed. I explained a lot, but there's still so much they don't understand from what happened. What was lost. What could have been lost."

"Why don't you tell them?"

She sighed. "I don't think they could handle it. It's better that they don't know."

He silently agreed. How would they react knowing that he'd walked out on their daughter?

Hermione touched his face. "Ron. Stop beating yourself up."

Of course she knew what he was thinking. He leaned forward and kissed her quickly.

"It'll be weird not seeing you every day."

"Yeah, but then you'll come back and we'll see each other loads. And when summer's over, I'll just be at the joke shop with George and you'll be close at the Ministry."

Hermione had been accepted to take an internship at the Ministry under the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, while Ron agreed to help George at the shop in nearby Diagon Alley.

She didn't speak for a long moment, and Ron glanced down at her. "What is it?"

"Nothing." She smiled, but it didn't meet her eyes, and he knew she was keeping something from him. Curious, but not wanting to ruin their last few moments together before she left, he dropped it.

"You'll have a fun trip."

She played with his fingers and nodded. "Yeah. It'll be good to spend time with my parents again."

A few, short minutes later, she hugged him goodbye. He leaned down and kissed her hard. "I'll write you all the time."

"Good. Don't use Pig, though. I'm not sure he'll survive."

Ron laughed. "You're probably right. Besides, I wouldn't set Pig on you while you're trying to relax. It would be too cruel."

She chuckled and kissed him once more. "I love you."

"I love you, too. Have fun."

As he disapparated, he still couldn't shake the feeling that she was keeping a secret from him.

Life at home without Hermione was lonely, to say the least. Harry and Ginny spent a lot of time with him, but they, of course, also needed time alone. His parents kept to themselves for the most part, Charlie was staying with Bill at Shell Cottage and George was always out with Lee, Angelina, or both. That left Percy and, desperate as he was, Ron was not anxious to chat with his older brother about how he still had a chance for a high end position at the Ministry.

One night, late in June, Ron sat in the garden flicking mud clots at the gnomes. In the distance, he spotted an unfamiliar owl and jumped to his feet, wondering if it was from Hermione. The owl perched on the window sill next to him and held out a leg. Ron pulled the letter off excitedly, but his heart fell when he saw that the print was formal and not Hermione's.

_To Mr. Harry Potter, Ms. Hermione Granger, and Mr. Ronald Weasley._

He broke the seal and began to read.

_Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger and Mr. Weasley,_

_ Together with Nimbus Broom and Co., Quality Quidditch Supplies would like to thank you for your contribution to the safety and preservation of wizards and witches everywhere. With gratitude, we would like to reward you each with our newest models, Nimbus 2006's _– Ron's jaw went slack – _We hope that you will come to us with all of your broomstick needs. At your convenience, please bring this letter into the shop, and we will outfit you with only the best._

_ With gratitude, _

_ Alfred Mulnet, Company Head_

A Nimbus. And not just any Nimbus – a Nimbus _2006_? It was possible that this new broom would be faster, even, than Harry's old firebolt. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't believe it.

"HARRY!"

Harry rushed outside a moment later. "What? What is it?"

Ron held out his hand for Harry to read the paper.

"A Nimbus 2006! Merlin! Who knew we'd get free stuff?"

Just then, there was a pop from the front yard, and Ron turned around in time to see Hermione set down her bags.

Today was a day full of pleasant surprises. He rushed over to her and grabbed her in a tight embrace. "Hermione! You're back!"

Her arms wove around his neck and stayed there. "I missed you."

She pulled just far enough away to kiss him. He smiled against her lips, thinking about how, the last time she'd arrived at the Burrow for the holidays, she'd been crying from sending her parents away and he hadn't even known how to help her. And now here they were, snogging, after she'd just vacationed with her parents' memories newly restored.

"What are you smiling about?"

He laughed out loud. "What do you think I'm smiling about? Honestly, woman."

She rolled her eyes with a smirk and pulled away. "Hello, Harry!" She hugged him tightly. "Where's Ginny?"

"She was cooking with her mum when I raced out here to see what Ron was shouting about."

Hermione gave him a questioning look. "What _were_ you shouting about?"

"Oh yeah! Look at this, Hermione." He passed the letter on to her. Her eyebrows rose.

"Merlin, how generous. These are supposed to be really nice, aren't they?"

Harry and Ron exchanged a baffled look. "Really nice? This is the newest broom there is! I'm not even sure if it's out in the shops yet!"

She smiled. "Well, how kind of them. But I don't have any need for a broom."

"I'll teach you! We'll teach you. It isn't so hard."

Hermione shook her head. "No, no, I think I'm content to ride alongside one of you should I ever need to get around by broom."

They gaped at her, and her eyes lit up.

"Oh, I know! I'll give mine to Ginny for her birthday!"

Harry looked pained. "How am I supposed to top the nicest broomstick in the world?"

Hermione laughed. "Shouldn't you just be happy that your girlfriend will have a broomstick as fast as yours? Unless, of course, _you_ wanted to give yours to her."

Ron and Harry shook their heads. They couldn't pass up a Nimbus 2006.

"All right then, it's settled. Please don't tell Ginny that I was supposed to get a broom, too."

"What do you suggest we tell her instead?"

"I don't know, anything you want. Tell her we all were given reward money and you lot just decided to spend it on new brooms."

"Won't she wonder what you did with yours?"

"I'll tell her I've saved it. She'll assume as much, anyway. Now, where is she? I've brought her a souvenir. I have some for you both as well, but they're deep in my duffel, so I'll give them to you after I unpack."

Ron and Harry sat speechless in her wake.

"What am I going to get Ginny for her birthday now? I was going to get her something fantastic – it's her seventeenth! She'll be an adult."

"Maybe you could … duel her."

Harry shot him a scathing look. "_Duel_ her? Was that an innuendo?"

Ron spluttered. "Of course not – blimey, she's my sister – no, I was just …" He turned bright red, not wanting to admit that he was thinking of a long ago day at Grimmauld Place with just him and Hermione. That duel had turned out rather well.

Harry laughed. "I'm kidding. I'll figure something out. Maybe I'll take her for a picnic in Australia now that we've been so I can apparate there. Or maybe we'll take a long broom trip and find somewhere neither of us have been."

"Not overnight!"

Harry smirked. "No, I doubt your mum would be too chuffed about that idea."

"Good."

"Not that we necessarily need a night to do anything we might want to."

"Watch it, Harry."

He laughed. "Only joking." He clapped Ron on the shoulder and went inside. Ron shook his head and followed, anxious to find Hermione and get her alone. Two weeks was too long to go without seeing her.

One day mid-June, Ron and Hermione sat beneath a tree. Overhead, Harry and Ginny raced Ron and Harry's Nimbuses. Despite bribe offers, persuasion and coercion from Harry and Ginny, Ron had been unwilling to loan Ginny his broom until Hermione leaned over and, with a low voice in his ear, said, "It _would_ be nice to get some alone time."

Much to Ginny's glee and Hermione's amusement, he'd handed it over quickly after that.

Ron drew a pattern on Hermione's palm. She caught his hand in hers and pressed it to her lips.

"I don't want summer to end."

"It's only the middle of June!"

"I know. But it feels like it's going too fast. We don't get enough of a break after the year of running and starving and fighting … it's just too short. I'll miss relaxing with you every day."

"We'll be close when the summer's over, still. Just down the street. And where do you think you'll live? How is flat hunting coming along?"

Hermione didn't answer for a long moment. "It's all right."

He, once again, got the sense that she was hiding something from him. He didn't want to ruin the moment, so he chose to ignore it.

"At least it's not over yet."

He slid a hand under her chin and tilted her head to face him. "And you were right. It is nice to be alone sometimes."

His fingers slid softly down her neck, and her eyes fluttered closed. She leaned in, and their mouths met.

He still couldn't believe how easily it came to him to be _with_ Hermione. The transition seemed like the most natural thing in the world – another facet of their friendship. In the least platonic way possible, of course.

Now, for instance, he felt anything but platonic as her hands trailed down his stomach. He found the end of her long plait, and he tugged the elastic from it. Then he ran his hands gently through her hair until it was a mess of curls again. She leaned back.

"Was that necessary?"

He kissed the hollow of her throat. "Yes."

She laughed. "It's windy today – I'll never get it back under control."

"Good. It's perfect the way it is."

Hermione pushed his shoulder, but it was a halfhearted effort. "Don't brown nose!"

"Who says I'm brown nosing?" He tugged on a springy curl. "I love your hair, Hermione Granger. Honest truth."

She sighed and leaned back against the tree. "Then you're mad."

"Mad for _you_," he said with an eyebrow wiggle. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You are insufferable."

"You are _beautiful_."

"Stop, Ronald. I mean it."

"How can I with a woman like you in my life?"

He was goading her, and they both knew it.

"You know, I'm tired. I think I'll nip inside for a nap. Maybe I'll find your mum and offer to help with dinner."

She stood up. This was a terribly unfair move on her part. He jumped to his feet as she breezed past the broom shed. He caught up to her in three long strides and grabbed her hand. He spun her around to face him.

"I'll stop, I swear!"

She seemed to contemplate this. "All right, then. I suppose your word will have to do."

He grinned and leaned back against the door to the shed. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." She stepped forward and linked her hands behind his back. "Where were we?"

She kissed him, and Ron was acutely aware of the fact that they leaned against a broom shed. It would be nice to have a moment with Hermione that didn't take place in his bedroom – so easily interrupted – or in the yard, while Harry and Ginny flew just above, within clear visual distance.

His hand found the knob, and he twisted it. They fell through, but did not stop kissing.

"AHH!"

They separated with a jolt and turned to see who had screamed.

Ron gave a shout of surprise and immediately spun around. Angelina Johnson lay beneath George in only a white brassier.

Everything was silent for one long, thoroughly awkward moment.

"You can turn around, Ron."

He did. Angelina now sat, looking as embarrassed as he felt, with her blouse on.

"What are you _doing_ here? Don't you have a flat?"

George sighed. "Lee's there."

"So you came to our bleeding broom shed?"

He smirked at this. "Yes. Fancy that. A snogging couple sneaking off to the broom shed. Who else in their right mind would have thought of such a thing?"

Ron flushed. "I – I mean we – it's …"

George chuckled, and stood. He held out a hand for Angelina, who stood beside him. Ron felt that something was different about George somehow – aside from Angelina's presence, of course.

"Come on, Ange. Let's get out of here before Ginny and Harry burst in and try making it a six-some."

She still looked embarrassed, but she followed without question. On her way out, she managed to exchange a small, knowing smile with Hermione, and a soft apology.

When they were gone, there was a lengthy pause. Then, Ron and Hermione dissolved into laughter.

"What in Merlin's name? Did you know they were dating?"

"I didn't even know they fancied each other!"

"George and Angelina. Who knew? I think they make a wonderful couple."

"Yeah, something was different about him."

"I noticed that too, but I couldn't put my finger on it."

"Well, good on George! Blimey, it can't be comfortable enough in here for activities like that one."

"So you weren't thinking of trying any activities that may be similar to that one when you first opened the door to this place?"

"What? Of course not!"

She laughed, and it was infectious, so he did too.

It was then that he realized why George seemed so different.

For the first time in a month and a half, he had smiled.

It was near the end of July before any more excitement happened. Ron and Hermione sat at the kitchen table playing exploding snap when there was a sudden scratching at the window.

"Ginny's school letter must've finally arrived. It's funny to think it won't be signed McGonagall anymore – I wonder who the new deputy is. Funny, I never even bothered to …"

Ron, who'd stood up to let the owl in, trailed off. There were two Hogwarts letters attached to its leg. And one of them read: _Hermione Granger. _

He spun around, the offending envelope clutched in his hand. Hermione had gone white, and she stared at her feet. "Why would they send you a letter? Didn't you tell McGonagall about the Ministry position?"

She chewed her lip. "I – I've given it a lot of thought, but I couldn't come to terms with finishing only six years and going straight into the position. I want to be prepared when I enter whatever career field I choose. And I'm not sure I want to begin in Magical law, anyway."

His jaw dropped. "When were you going to tell me about this?"

"I'm not sure. I meant to tell you, honestly, but it wasn't certain yet. It still isn't. I haven't made my final decision yet. I simply … wanted to keep my options open."

Ron felt his perfect fantasy of their post-war lives together in London evaporate. He told himself that he needed to be supportive of whatever choice she made – internship or Hogwarts – and that he had no right to be angry that she'd kept it from him when she hadn't even made a decision yet. Still, he felt his face heat up.

"So you've talked to McGonagall?"

"Yes. The good news is, though, if I did go to Hogwarts, I'd get to room with Ginny this year, and she wouldn't have to be alone with Romilda Vane! And her and Harry are going to see each other loads – I'll even break the rules and apparate from Hogsmeade any time I can."

Just then, Harry, Ginny, Molly and Arthur entered the kitchen.

"Finally, the book lists!" Ginny snatched hers from the owl. Numbly, Ron walked over to Hermione and handed the envelope he was holding to her. She took it with a worried look in his direction.

"Hermione, dear, what is it you've got there?"

Hermione flushed and looked up at Molly. "Well, it's my Hogwarts acceptance letter."

The gathered crowd erupted with noise. Ginny roared in excitement, and the rest of them couldn't seem to stop badgering her with opinions and questions.

"What about the internship?"

"How exciting!"

"I always knew you'd finish."

All the while, Ron stood next to her, still at a loss, trying to picture Hermione at Hogwarts without them. He noticed that she had a strange look on her face, and her fingers, clutched around the envelope, were frozen.

"What is it?" he asked quietly.

She stared at him in shock. Slowly, she broke the seal and pulled something from the envelope. Purple letters "HG" were etched on the front of a small, familiar badge.

For one bizarre moment, Ron wondered why they'd made her a badge with her initials on it, and then he realized.

"Head Girl!" The voice came from his mum. She hugged Hermione tightly to her chest. "We're so proud of you!"

Ginny nearly danced with glee. "Hermione's in a dorm with me and she's Head Girl!"

"They should've given this to someone in Ginny's year," Hermione finally said softly.

Everyone fell silent.

"Come off it, Hermione! You've wanted this since you first found out you were a witch."

"I know but … I don't want them to reward me with something like this just because I helped Harry defeat Voldemort. It doesn't feel right."

Harry snorted. "Of course, this is a badge for your help in the war and couldn't possibly have anything to do with your academic performance."

She still looked pained. "What about the girls who've been dreaming about this for as long as I have? Won't they be angry?"

Ginny laughed this time. "We have by far the smallest class at Hogwarts, and you outperform anyone my age by a land slide. No one in their right mind will think you don't deserve it."

As hurt and disappointed as he was that Hermione wouldn't be a quick floo away for the next year, Ron was overwhelmingly proud of her. Of course she would be the one to achieve a childhood dream and immediately insist that someone else deserved it more.

"Hermione, giving that badge to anyone besides you would have been mental."

She shot him a thankful smile. "Well. I suppose this decision just got a lot easier."

Ginny cheered, and the rest of them muttered their congratulations before leaving with Ginny to see what she would need for her seventh year. Ginny shouted her excitement a moment later when, from her own letter, a Quidditch Captain's badge fell out.

Back in the kitchen, Ron and Hermione sat in silence for a long moment.

"Blimey. Head Girl. That's amazing."

She sighed. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you."

"That's all right. Maybe it's better you waited."

"Yeah?"

He shrugged. "Maybe. I'm glad I didn't get a chance to try and talk you out of it."

She smiled. "Head Girl. I can't believe it."

Ron leaned forward and kissed her. "I can."

Despite herself, he could tell that she was pleased. "Thank you."

"Of course. Although I may just be sucking up because you're Head Girl and all. Your highness."

"Oh, come off it! You wouldn't _dream_ of brown nosing."

He smirked. "You're right. Care to be killed in a game of wizard's chess?"

"You're on."

With Hermione and Ginny headed back to Hogwarts and Ron working with George, only Harry was left to decide his future plans. One day, a week after Ginny's seventeenth birthday ("You did _not_ get me a Nimbus, Hermione, you did _not _get me a Nimbus!"), Ron and Harry made their way to the Ministry where Harry was to have his entrance interview to become an auror. Ron never made the marks necessary, so he only accompanied Harry because he didn't want to be left alone with the girls shopping for school supplies.

Walking into the building brought memories flooding back. Ron was pleased to see the "Magic is Might" statue gone from the center of the atrium when they walked in. They sat and waited for Gawain Robards, the head of the auror department, to call Harry in.

"Harry Potter."

Ron gave Harry an encouraging grin, and the two men disappeared down a hallway together. Though it only took a few minutes, it felt like longer that Ron waited on the hard chair for them to come out. When they did, Ron stood up to go.

"Wait. Aren't you Ron Weasley?"

He paused. "Erm … yeah."

"You don't have any interest in becoming an auror, then?"

"Well, I mean, it's not so much a matter of interest as grades. I never did as well as Harry in school."

"Academics are only a portion of it, and a minor portion at that."

Ron frowned. "They always told us that to be an auror we needed top marks."

"For most people, that's correct. But then, most people haven't had anywhere close to the type of real life experience that you do when they graduate."

Ron stared between the man and Harry, who grinned in excitement.

"No, I suppose not, but Harry did most of it."

"That's not true!" Harry interjected firmly. "Ron did loads of it – first year he sacrificed himself on a giant chess set and got us into a guarded dungeon. Second year he fought off a whole crowd of acromantulas and made it into the Chamber of Secrets all without a proper wand!"

The man seemed impressed already. Ron opened his mouth to protest, but it seemed Harry was on a roll.

"Third year he helped fight off a dementors with a broken leg, fourth year he helped me with every Triwizard task –" Ron thought this was a stretch, but knew he had no hope of interrupting until Harry was finished "– fifth year he helped contain a giant and fought an entire group of death eaters at the Ministry and the next year he fought them again in the astronomy tower – I had nothing to do with that – and then for the past year, he's been on the run with me fighting – he fought Bellatrix Lestrange and whole groups of snatchers and, well, you were at the Battle of Hogwarts. He dueled a thousand death eaters there. And those are just the things I can think of right off the top of my head! I'd've died a million times over if it weren't for Ron."

The three of them were silent for a moment after this rather excessive endorsement by Harry.

"Well," Robards finally said. "I don't suppose you'd come in for an interview next week? I get the feeling you're being too modest, especially after Mr. Potter's glowing review. And it's no mystery to anyone in this office how pivotal your role was in this war, Mr. Weasley."

Ron honestly did not feel like he was exhibiting any false modesty. It all seemed much better when Harry listed it all at once like that. Still, he found himself agreeing to an interview the following week.

"Any chance your friend Ms. Granger would be interested?"

Ron and Harry exchanged an amused glance, but shook their heads.

The man looked disappointed, but waved them off.

Harry received word that he was accepted in the auror department the next morning. They'd forgone two stages of mandatory interviews as he, apparently, was qualified enough.

Ron went back to the interview the next week without any expectations. Only Harry knew that it was even happening. However, as with Harry, they notified him the next morning that, should he choose to accept, he would start the rigorous regime of training at the end of the summer.

When he finally plucked up the courage to tell Hermione, he could see that she was disappointed, even as she tried to hide it. "An auror! Ron that's … well … wonderful."

"I know! I couldn't even believe it! I didn't even have to show them any skill sets."

"So … aren't aurors often away on long missions?"

Ron paused to consider what this might mean for them. "Yes … but I'll still meet you in Hogsmeade any time I can."

"I suppose, yes. It's just beginning to feel like we're never going to see each other at all."

"I know it feels like that, but we will. As if Harry and I could honestly go for very long without you saving us every five minutes."

She smiled. "I'll miss you both."

He pulled her tightly to his chest and they stayed like that for a long time.

Months later, the night of August 31 was not a good one. Tensions were high, and Ron and Hermione stood only feet from each other and shouted.

"Do you even care that I'm Head Girl? Do you even care at all?"

"Do I care? I have _always_ cared!"

"Ever since you found out I was going back –"

"Ever since _you_ found out I was going to be an auror –"

"–things haven't been the same!"

"Well you sure kept it from me long enough!"

"If only I'd known you'd react so well!"

"You could have told me!"

"Why? I can make decisions on my own, Ron!"

"Of course you can! That's all you ever do!"

"I WILL NOT BE THAT GIRL!"

"_WHAT GIRL?_"

The pitch of Hermione's voice lowered, but only by an octave or two.

"The girl who gets a boyfriend and throws away her future – everything she'd ever worked for away because of it!"

Ron recoiled as if he'd been slapped.

"Throws away her future? Is that what this is? I've always known you were too good for me – smarter than I am, always known you would be more successful, that you would change the bloody _world_, Hermione, and I thought that I'd always encouraged it!"

He panted, his face red, but his next words were quiet and even.

"I didn't realize I was holding you back from your future, or I would have stayed the hell away."

"Wait, Ron, I didn't mean it like that!"

He spun on his heel, the words he'd always been afraid to hear still ringing in his ears. They'd been in the orchard, so, quietly as he could, he made his way to the top landing and flopped onto his bed. He glanced over, saw the empty cot, and remembered that Harry slept in Ginny's room every night, and Hermione slept in his. He knew enough to understand that Hermione would never dream of interrupting Harry and Ginny on their last night together, which meant that she would probably end up sleeping on the squashy sofa.

_Their last night together._

What was he thinking? Hermione was going back to Hogwarts tomorrow, and he was lying in bed, acting like a prat. He jumped up from the mattress and retraced his steps. Sure enough, Hermione sat on the sofa, her knees pulled to her chest.

"Hey."

She glanced up at him, and her swollen eyes sent a pang through his heart.

"Hey."

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I care that you're head girl. I _love_ that you're head girl. I guess I've just been worried."

"Of what?"

He flushed and looked down. "Of losing you."

"You won't."

"I know … I've just come close so many times. Most of them due to my own stupidity."

Her resulting smile was watery, but she patted the seat next to her. He walked over and sat down.

"You're not going to lose me, Ron."

"That's the other thing. What you said – Blimey, Hermione, I want you to do everything you've always wanted. If being with me is holding you back –"

"– It's not!"

"– _if_ it is, then I don't want it."

Hermione sighed and faced him. "Ron, I didn't say any of that because you were holding me back or because you haven't encouraged me to accomplish whatever I want. The problem was I felt so right about returning to Hogwarts. The internship was not the department I wanted to start in, and I wanted to help rebuild the Hogwarts that _I_ knew for the students who might come in. For the muggleborns entering the school after the war – especially for those poor eleven-year-olds that were in hiding or were tormented for their blood status – I wanted to show them that muggleborns were just as good. I hate to admit it, but I was also desperate to have some N.E.W.T. scores to show for six years of effort. I had every reason in the world to go back to Hogwarts, but the only thing I could think of was how badly I wanted to work near you. It was why I didn't say anything – I couldn't make up my mind. And that terrified me – it terrified me that the smart, successful, independent witch I'd always pictured myself becoming was suddenly tempted to walk away from what I knew I wanted because it didn't seem worth it to be away from you."

She paused to breathe, and Ron slid his arms around her waist and pulled her against his chest.

"But you _did_ make the right decision. And for what it's worth, it took every ounce of will power I had not to write McGonagall the moment you got your letter and beg for her to take me back with you. I almost did it, too, but then I got the auror position and I knew that you deserved someone who would take a risk to accomplish what they wanted to in life."

She kissed his cheek. "I was only able to come to terms with the decision to go back to Hogwarts because I knew you'd want me to do what I felt is right, regardless."

Ron's nod turned into a yawn. "You're right. Now, before we fall asleep just like this on mum's sofa, why don't we head up to bed?"

He helped her stand, and she leaned into him. "Thanks for coming back for me."

"Sorry for walking away in the first place."

She shrugged. "I needed a moment alone anyways. Merlin. It's been ages since we've rowed like that."

He draped his arm around her shoulders. "I'm sure it's not the last time."

"I don't mind the rowing, as long as our make ups are always this pleasant."

"I can think of a few ways for making up to be even more pleasant."

She blushed, but still managed a coy smirk as she pulled away from him. "You'll have to tell me all about them when we get to your room."

"If you insist."

"Although I am awfully tired." She gave a theatrical yawn. "I might be fast asleep by the time you make it up there."

And with that, she disapparated.

Marveling at what an excellent flirt Hermione turned out to be, Ron chuckled and spun on the spot and arrived only moments later to a Hermione who was very much awake.

The next morning, Ron and Harry, after lots of kisses, hugs, winks and last minute luggage checks, waved goodbye to the girls. Most of the kissing, of course, had come from Hermione's mum and Molly, who was terribly sentimental about sending her last child off to Hogwarts for a final year.

Harry and Ron, on the other hand, had both settled on a quick peck on the lips for Ginny and Hermione respectively.

Both of them were content with the more than satisfactory goodbyes said the night before.

"SHOW THEM WHO'S BOSS!" Ron shouted.

"ONLY LET UGLY BLOKES ON THE TEAM!" Harry called.

Hermione and Ginny laughed and waved until the whistle blew and they were out of sight. Ron watched the train disappear and hoped the weeks until he would visit for her birthday would go by quickly. Already, the thought of being away from her so frequently made him impatient for it all to be over. With that in mind, his next words slipped out unchecked.

"I'm going to marry her, you know."

Harry looked a bit surprised, but only grinned.

"I know."

Together, they turned and walked back through the barrier, past crowds of gawking passersby, towards their new flat in Diagon Alley, towards the Ministry where they now worked, towards a future that, Ron could feel, was brighter than anything they'd left behind.


End file.
